


How to Handle a Matzo Ball Soup Emergency

by Blowfish_Diaries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Awkward men being awkward, Chef Harry Potter, Divorced Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Flashbacks, Fluff, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Judaism, London, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Parent Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Referenced Holocaust, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-07-25 01:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16187354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blowfish_Diaries/pseuds/Blowfish_Diaries
Summary: Harry, having left the Wizarding World after his divorce, inherits a deli in a trendy part of London. Draco wanders in and falls in love - with the food. And certainly not with the infuriatingly-fit-father-of-three who runs the place.A tale of growing up and families of choice; of awkward hugs and new best friends.





	How to Handle a Matzo Ball Soup Emergency

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[27a](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit).
> 
> A giant thank you to magpie_fngrl for her support and suggestions with this story! I owe you a coffee <3
> 
> I've run out of superlatives to describe my amazing beta @lower-east-side. I am in your debt, you wonderful human! 
> 
> To the prompter: Thank you for this! I read your prompt and was immediately reminded of my late grandparents, who ran a restaurant and gave the best advice and hugs in the world. I hope this fulfills your vision!
> 
> UPDATE 7/2019: After a few people mentioned my incorrect French translations, I've edited them! Thanks to those of you for pointing it out
> 
> Translations for the Yiddish and French at the end. xx

**July 1998**

Harry had no idea how long he’d been walking, but he noticed that dusk had settled over London when his stomach grumbled. He glanced down at the battered watch on his wrist without actually noting the time, and looked around while trying to remember the last time he’d eaten. Harry had left Grimmauld Place in a daze, feeling overwhelmed and stir crazy. The insomnia that plagued him since he’d run out of his supply of Dreamless Sleep a week prior was making it difficult for him to keep the door shut to the grief that constantly threatened to overtake him. When he’d had gotten out of bed that morning - pointedly ignoring the stack of unanswered letters from his friends and adopted family “just checking in... we haven’t heard from you, Harry, and we’re worried…” - Harry was seized with the need to leave the stiflingly stale air of the old Black home. He’d dressed and stepped out of his house for the first time since he’d locked his doors, closed his Floo connection, and put up as many wards as he could come up with almost a month ago.

Harry walked. He waded through groups of school children in front of the British Museum and dodged men in suits rushing along the streets outside of Parliament. He walked along the brightly coloured houses of Knotting Hill and carefully sidestepped a puddle of sick outside of a pub in Chelsea.

He pointedly avoided Tottenham Court Road and the memories it held.

Harry’s feet began to ache in his ratty trainers, and he felt the sweat prickle on his brow as he stood still for the first time in hours, hoping that he’d be able to find something that would satisfy his appetite for long enough to make it back to Grimmauld Place. A neon sign to his left caught his attention and he walked towards it blindly, drawn to the bright light. Harry stopped and looked into the storefront. He noted empty tables and a black and white tiled floor. Now close enough to read it, he saw that the sign read, “Weinberg’s Deli, est. 1947” in looping red script. He stepped to his left and pushed open the door, vaguely aware of the soft ring of a bell above him signaling his entrance. The deli was small: the space was dominated by a long, clear case lining most of the right-hand side that looked to Harry like the deli counters in a muggle supermarket. Chalkboards were mounted above these describing the day’s menu in neat handwriting, and a wooden counter formed a ninety degree angle with the end of the cases. The counter was well worn and topped with an ancient-looking cash register; photographs of smiling people with their arms around each other lined the exposed brick walls behind the cases. Harry was looking at the menu when a small silver door to the left of the counter swung open. A short old man with a thick mop of salt and pepper hair came out wearing a white shirt. He had the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and “Saul” was embroidered across the left breast.

“Hello young man,” he said in heavily accented English, sidling behind the counter. He smiled at Harry, picking up the pair of half moon spectacles that hung from the vee of his shirt and putting them on. A pair of twinkling blue eyes flashed in Harry’s memory and he felt his stomach flip. “What can I get for you today?”

“Oh, err, hello,” Harry said, his voice hoarse from disuse. He coughed a few times in an attempt to clear his throat and blinked rapidly, trying to stymie the tears that he felt welling up as visions of a long white beard and King’s Cross station came to mind. “I’ve never been here before. What do you suggest?” He felt a tear slide down his cheek and he hurriedly brushed it away.

The man peered at Harry for a moment before he reached into his trousers and pulled a handkerchief out. He passed it to Harry and said, “Matzo ball soup. That’s what you need.” He strode back over to the silver door and pushed it open, sticking his head in and shouting, “Sophia! We have a matzo ball emergency!” With the man’s back turned Harry took the opportunity to wipe at his eyes with the cloth, feeling both grateful and embarrassed. A moment later a petite old woman wearing a floral dress and a blue apron came rushing out of the door. She was wiping her hands on the apron as she came behind the counter, speaking a language Harry didn’t know. “Ton nit shrayen in mir alter kaker!”

After quickly tying her white hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, she turned to face Harry and gasped, “Oh my! It’s Harry Potter!” Her hand immediately flew to clap over her mouth and she grimaced. “Oy, what a thing for me to say! I’m sorry dear, I’m just surprised to see you! And in a muggle neighborhood! And here in our store! Saul, look! It’s Harry Potter!” The old man - Saul, apparently - nodded, looking faintly amused.

“Welcome to Weinberg’s deli,” the woman continued, “what a mitzvah, to be able to serve you.” Something in her tone and mannerisms reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley, although this woman had at least 30 years on her and a strong Northern accent. She turned back to the man, moving her hands to her hips. “Of course he needs matzo ball soup! Mein gott! Saul, get him sat down. And get him a rugelach. Or three. He’s thin as a rail!” She hurried back through the silver door, muttering to herself in the language Harry couldn’t place.

If the man was surprised by this behavior he didn’t show it. He simply smiled at Harry and gestured to the empty tables. “Well, boychick, you heard her! Choose a seat. I’m Saul Weinberg, and that whirling dervish was my wife, Sophia.” He stooped to pick up a tray of what looked like tiny, spiraled biscuits, and began to arrange a few on a dish. “Are you a coffee drinker?”

Harry shook his head. “No, not really. I haven’t been sleeping well lately and I don’t think coffee will help.” He chose a seat at a small, round table and sat down. “I’m Harry, by the way. But, err, you already know that.”

Saul nodded and came around the side of the counter with the plate clasped in his hands. “Nice to meet you, Harry. You’re the famous wizard, then?” He reached the table and set the plate down, sitting in the empty seat to the left of Harry. “And I’m assuming you’re a gentile,” he continued before Harry could respond. “These are rugelach - they’re biscuits.” He pushed the plate towards Harry. “Very, very delicious biscuits.”

“Thank you.” Harry took a biscuit and examined it without taking a bite. “And, err, yes. I’m a wizard. I’m, well, that wizard. Are you?”

Saul shook his head. “Not me. Muggle through and through. Sophia’s got all the magic in the family.” He smiled at Harry again, peering at him from above his spectacles.

Just then the silver door swung open again and Sophia came bustling out holding a large, steaming bowl in front of her. She approached to the table and set the bowl in front of Harry, who looked down and saw golden broth with three large, sandy coloured balls sitting in it. “Oh. Thank you. What is this?” Harry asked, picking up the spoon that Sophia had put next to the bowl.

“Matzo ball soup,” she responded, sitting in the chair next to Saul. “It’s the best cure for an empty stomach, and it does wonders for the soul.” She gestured for Harry to eat, and he took a small bite. It was heavenly. Harry began to eat quickly, relishing in the salty warmth of the soup. He looked up and saw Saul and Sophia smiling fondly at him and sat up, belatedly realising that he was hunched over the bowl and was practically shoveling the food into his mouth.

Sophia leaned over and patted his hand. “Thank you, Harry, for everything you did. Look at you, not even a man and setting the world back to rights? Ess! Eat some more soup. You’re skin and bones, kemfer.”

“Thank you for the soup. It’s delicious.” Harry wasn’t sure if it was due to the fact that he’d not had a full night’s sleep in over a week or if Sophia really was peppering her sentences with non-English words.

“Let the boy alone, bubbala,” Saul said, winking at Harry and pushing the plate of rugelach towards him.

Sophia rolled her eyes. “Saul doesn’t read The Prophet - and for good reason, look at the lies they print! - but I don’t live in the Wizarding World anymore so I had to get information from somewhere, fershtay? But we know. I told him all about you, about what a mensch you’ve been!”

“Did you leave after the first war with Voldemort?” Harry asked, finally taking a bite of the rugelach. It was sweet and crunchy and perfect.

“Oh, no dear. I left a long, long time ago. After the Ministry forbade witches and wizards from interfering in the Muggle Second World War. My parents and I joined the Magical Resistance, where we worked alongside muggles on the continent. We didn’t want to live in a world that told us not to use our magic to save our own families! And besides, that’s how I found my Saul.” She beamed at her husband.

“Oh, wow.” Harry said. He’d learnt about World War II at his muggle school, but hadn’t given any thought to the role of the magical community in that conflict. “You were in the resistance too, Saul?” Images of the Order of the Phoenix came into Harry’s mind - Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Snape … his parents... - but he fought to keep the memories pushed firmly away and focused on the sound of Saul’s voice.

“No, no. I missed all the action.” 

Sophia made a sound of disbelief. “Being a prisoner in a camp doesn’t count against you, love.”

Saul waved a dismissive hand. “My Sophia saved me! She came into the camp with British soldiers to liberate us, posing as a muggle nurse. She found me nearly dead in a bunk, riddled with all manner of disease. She watched over me and nursed me back to health. Fed me matzo ball soup - it was even better than my bubbe’s. The first time I opened my eyes in hospital and saw her, I knew she was my b’shert - my soulmate. My angel.” Saul looked over at Sophia and smiled, taking her hand. “We’ve been together since 1945, if you can believe that!”

“What’s a... a gentile?” Harry asked, remembering that Saul had called him that when he first sat down.

“A non-Jewish person,” replied Saul, helping himself to a rugelach.

“So you were in a camp, err, during the Holocaust? In Germany? Or...” Harry asked, trying to remember what his muggle teachers had said. For all that he felt completely ignorant on the subject, having a conversation - connecting with people - made Harry feel fully awake for the first time in weeks.

Saul nodded. “I was born in Frankfurt, and was deported to a camp in Poland in 1942.”

“It’s not so different than what would have happened to all the Muggle Born witches and wizards, Harry, if you hadn’t defeated You-Know-Who,” said Sophia. “From what the Prophet was reporting, there were already registries and laws against us Muggle Borns. Same thing with the Jews, the gypsies, the homosexuals, the dissenters! It happened in Germany, it happened here! Oy vey izmir, what a mess we humans make of the world.”

Harry looked down at his empty soup bowl before speaking. He wasn’t sure what to do with this information, but he found that he felt a sense of comfort in in the small deli, talking to these kind people without anything being asked of him in return. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but are you sometimes speaking a different language?” Harry finally asked. “Only, I’ve not been sleeping much and my brain feels a bit fuzzy…”

Saul leaned forward and smiled. “Oh what terrible manners we have! We speak Yiddish to each other. Nevermind us old folks, Harry. We’re wool gatherers, the lot of us.” The twinkle in his eye again reminded Harry so strongly of Dumbledore that it took his breath away momentarily.

“I... I suppose I should be going, then.” Harry pushed his chair back, wincing at the squealing of the metal chair legs against the tiles. “I don’t actually have a clue where I am, though. I went on a walk without really planning on it...”

“You’re in Shoreditch, love,” replied Sophia, standing up with Harry. “I’ll pack you some more soup to take home with you and Saul is going to call you a taxi. You look dead on your feet!”

Harry suddenly realised that he had neither wallet nor wand on him. He felt a blush rise to his cheeks and he stuttered out, “I...err... I haven’t got my wallet. I don’t have any muggle money on me. But I can run back home and maybe apparate back? Do you have a Floo? I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this. I promise I’ll return straight away!”

Saul stood up and clapped a warm hand on Harry’s bony shoulder. “Now stop right there, boychick. We wouldn’t accept money from you! Come back and see us again, that’s all we ask. You’ve got the look of a warrior to you, Harry; you’re stronger than you know. And now that Sophia’s seen you, she won’t rest until you’ve gained at least a stone! And found a wife. And had a few children.”

“Oi! Hush, you!” Sophia said indignantly, before turning to Harry. She took one of his hands into both of hers - she had cool, wrinkled hands - and looked into his eyes. “Harry,” she began, “come back, have soup. Sit for a while. Don’t forget to be kind to yourself.” Harry nodded and thanked them again for their hospitality. Sophia pressed another container of soup and a ten pound note into his hand - “for the taxi!” - and she and Saul walked Harry towards the exit. To the right of the door, just above Harry’s eye level, a crinkled, yellowing piece of paper was framed. “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way. - Viktor Frankl.”

For the first time in a week, Harry slept through the night.  
_______

**January - April 2011 (with flashbacks to 2002)**

If asked, Draco Malfoy would say that the most irritating aspect of moving one’s life from Paris to London in the dead of winter was the difficulty in finding the particular charm that would repel the salty slush that covered the Knightsbridge streets from the bottom of one’s trousers.

He would be lying, of course. The most irritating aspect of moving one’s life from Paris to London in the dead of winter was the fact that he was doing it at all. But Astoria had fallen in love and wanted to relocate to London. In order to maintain a stable environment for their five year old son Scorpius to grow up in, Draco and Astoria agreed to share custody and both live in London. They purchased adjoining townhomes in Knightsbridge and found a suitable wizarding primary school for Scorpius to attend. He felt that it was the least he could do for his now ex-wife, as she had agreed to marry him in the first place nearly ten years ago, perfectly aware of the fact that Draco was marrying her for her uterus and was otherwise utterly uninterested in pursuing a romantic relationship with her. Not that Astoria was upset about this, as both she and Draco were bent as corkscrews. But for a decade familial obligations had won out. Then Astoria had been reintroduced to Millicent Bulstrode at her yoga retreat in Tahiti and the rest was, as they say, history.

Never let it be said that Draco Malfoy was one to stand in the way of true love. He himself had been in unrequited love with the same person since he was fifteen years old, and had long since accepted that he’d never know the thrill of one’s beloved loving them back.

When he’d informed his mother of his impending divorce and relocation, she’d merely raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and commented, “How thoroughly modern,” before returning to her needlepoint.

Pansy had found Draco a new space for his potions laboratory, using her influence as one of the top grossing magi-realtors in London to net him “a truly magnificent loft in the trendiest part of London, darling. No one else has even heard the space is available for let, otherwise you’d not have a chance at it.” It was, much to Draco’s chagrin, absolutely perfect (and Pansy would never let him hear the end of it.) Hardwood floors with large windows well suited to ventilation, a direct Floo connection with his home office, and climate controlled storage. He’d had top of the line fixtures installed, and made sure to include a nook for his favourite muggle device: an espresso machine.

His first morning in his new laboratory was spent carefully unpacking and painstakingly organising his ingredients into their proper order. He had a new order for his own variation on a Calming Draught to fill for St Mungo’s and the clippings from the tail of a Sphinx he’d managed to track down for the potion were exquisitely temperamental. A precise temperature and calm emotional environment were required to keep it stable: the mere suggestion of sarcasm or ill-timed pun and the delicate fur would burst into flames. Draco made sure to put up silencing charms around the package; he knew Pansy was likely to pop around at any moment and he was patently incapable of reigning in his snark around that woman.  
Realising it was past noon, Draco decided to brave the elements - today it was icy pavement and freezing wind - to explore his new neighborhood in search of sustenance. He was curious about the “trendiest area of London,” and hoped that he would find out what made the neighbourhood worth the price of rent. He turned left and began walking carefully down the street, noting that there were three cafes a stone's throw from each other, all advertising “organic, fair-trade coffee” and decorated in the minimalist style he associated with Scandinavian design. While Draco was no stranger to muggle economic practices, he was still mystified as to how three businesses in such close proximity to each other could stay in business.

Draco’s attitude towards muggles and their world had changed drastically in the years following the war. While his father was given a life sentence in Azkaban, he and his mother were sentenced to two years house arrest and ordered to do community service with the newly formed Muggle Liaison Service. They were directed to clean up muggle parks and green spaces in an attempt, he thought, to humiliate them; they were also forced to take part in a series of seminars called “Understanding Muggles: How to Stop Thinking Like a Bigot and Start Being a Decent Human.” Despite the fact that he was forced to take the Mark in order to keep his parents alive, and despite the resentment and hatred he felt towards the Dark Lord, he had held onto the belief that had been instilled in him since he could walk: that wizards were superior to muggles in every sense.

The seminars were taught by visiting lecturers from various backgrounds and institutions. They first tackled basic muggle history and then moved on to more nuanced topics like art, technology, and entertainment. They went on trips to the British Museum, the War Rooms, and to the Tate Modern; they were tasked with cooking and cleaning without their wands; they visited hospitals and laboratories to see how muggles had not only survived in a world without magic, but had thrived as well. Draco quickly found out that almost all of what he’d been taught as a child were nothing but lies and stereotypes. He was embarrassed and angry, but glad that he had the opportunity to change.

Then Hermione Granger came to give a seminar on her research in adapting muggle treatments to aid Healers - she was making great strides in the field of remedying memory loss and dementia in older witches and wizards. She strode into the makeshift classroom that they’d been afforded in the bowels of the Ministry, her head held high with the sleeves of her research robes pushed up past her elbows. Her hair was as bushy as ever, but she had cultivated it to ring her head in an afro (Draco recognised the style from their unit on the cultural movements of the 1960’s and 70’s) that suited her well. She presented her research in a straightforward fashion; the passion she had for her research was evident. Draco’s attention never wavered, although his gaze often flicked to the thin white scars he could make out on her dark forearm. His stomach rolled as he clenched his first over his own left forearm, thumb stroking the scar tissue that lingered there.

The night that his father had been sentenced to life in Azkaban, Draco had made his way through half a bottle of Ogden’s finest and then taken one of his aunt’s knives, still lodged in the wall of the manor after a round of torturing muggle born wizards, to his Dark Mark. The result was a grim mixture of pink puckered skin and the faint outlines of a skull.

After her lecture, Draco waited until the room cleared and then walked over to where Granger was gathering her presentation materials. His palms were sweating and he felt light-headed, a tingling sensation in the tips of fingers. She looked up and raised one eyebrow while she tilted her head, regarding him with curiosity and mild distaste. He opened his mouth to speak but was only able to make a sort of breathy squeaking noise. Granger folded her arms across her chest. “I never thought I’d see the day that Draco Malfoy was at a loss for words.” She continued to stare at him, her gaze unwavering. Draco tried again.

“Granger. Ah, that is… Ms Granger,” he took a steadying breath, “that was a remarkable presentation. Thank you for taking the time to come talk to us about your research. I’d wondered if you’d looked into the use of antidepressant potions in patients with severe memory charm damage? I’ve been doing my own research into their properties and from what you’ve just said, Healers aren’t concerned enough with maintaining the mental health of the permanent residents of the Janus Thickey Ward. Perhaps you might be interested in discussing this further?” Draco finished in a rush, hoping that he’d managed to get his point out. He was also hoping that he’d not be punched in the face. Again.

Granger’s eyebrows were now making a valiant effort to disappear into her hairline. She looked absolutely shocked.

“I have to admit, Malfoy, that’s not what I’d expected you to say. But if that’s all you have to say to me, then no, I don’t want to discuss anything with you. Please bugger off. I’ll look into the potions.”

Draco felt sweat beading at his neck. The tingling sensation had now moved from his fingertips to the bridge of his nose; he knew, rationally, that an anxiety attack was building and that he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. The rational part of his brain and the reactive part of his brain were not working in tandem, however, and he found himself unable to take a deep breath.

“Right. Of course. I apologise for the presumption.” Draco put a shaking hand on the back of a chair to steady himself, but he felt his knees buckle.

“Oh, for the love of -” Granger grabbed Draco’s right wrist and looked down at her watch. “Have you ever had a panic attack, Malfoy?” Granger asked, her voice seeming to come from very far away. “Your pulse is skyrocketing.”

“Ye … yes,” he tried to reply coherently as he slid to the floor, vaguely aware that Granger’s strong hands were guiding him. She conjured a glass of water and directed him to put his head between his knees. She counted breaths with him until he was able to sit up a bit and take sips of the cold water.

“I’m incredibly sorry, Granger. I… I didn’t mean to do that.”

Granger scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Not only am I a Trainee Healer, Malfoy, but I am also a war veteran with PTSD symptoms of my own. I know one can’t control one’s panic attacks.” She was sitting facing Draco, her legs crossed and an unimpressed expression on her face.

Draco took a deep drink of water. “I’ve so carefully planned out what I’d say to you, if I was ever face to face with you again. This is not what I’d imagined.”

Granger nodded. “Yes, well, I always thought that if I saw you again I’d hex your bollocks off. But here we are, you with testicles intact.”

Draco gave her a weak smile. He tried to sit up a bit straighter, but immediately felt dizzy again. He gave into slumping against the wall. “What I mean to imply is that, well, I know I have a lot to say. A lot to … apologise for. I wrote you so many letters. All of you … Weasley. Potter,” his voice cracked at the mention of the name, but he continued on. “I never sent any of them. It felt wrong to try and convey my feelings through an owl instead of in person. And yet, I haven’t reached out to you in these past two years.”

“Now’s as good a time as ever, you know.” Granger rubbed the thin white scars on her forearm. Draco wondered idly if it was as much a subconscious habit for her as it was for him.

“Right. Of course,” Draco cleared his throat. “Hermione Granger. I am sorry, from the bottom of my heart for the wrongs I committed against you. Beginning in first year, when I implied that you were less than I simply because of your birth…” He continued for nearly half an hour, listing in chronological order every time that he’d said or done anything to harm or hurt her, either physically or mentally. When he made it to sixth year, he was crying but determined to get through his speech. Granger remained silent, conjuring a handkerchief when he needed it and otherwise allowing him to speak without interruption.

“Well. Ok, then,” Granger shifted and leaned forward, extending her hand. “I’m Hermione Granger. Mudblood. Witch. Trainee Healer. War veteran. Daughter of parents whose minds I obliviated so thoroughly they have no idea who I am.”

Draco took her hand in his, surprised at the strength of her grip. “Draco Malfoy. Former Death Eater. Wizard. Gemini,” Hermione - she was Hermione now, he supposed - made an inelegant noise and he smiled at her. “Yes, Gemini. Currently unemployed, aspiring Potions Master. Son to a father with visions of grandeur who has gone mad in Azkaban, and to a mother who was just yesterday wearing an orange jumpsuit for collecting refuse that she’s altered to look like a classical A-line gown. And that’s using the muggle method, mind you. Sewing machine and all.”

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth in mock - shock. “No!” she gasped. “Narcissa Malfoy wearing orange?”

“I know, and with our skin tone? It’s positively dreadful. But mother has always been aces at compartmentalising. Whenever we don our community service attire she acts as though she’s preparing for a Ministry Ball.” Draco laughed. “When our supervisor tried to scold her for altering her ‘uniform,’ she quite literally threw the rule book at him and told him that she’d read every single page and there wasn’t anything against alterations, as long as they were wearing the original jumpsuit. And she’d used all the original fabric.”

Hermione threw her head back and laughed, her whole body shaking with mirth.

They sat in the empty classroom for hours, discussing the past two years of their lives and sometimes even delving into their Hogwarts years. When they finally stood up, backs cracking and arses numb from the wooden floor, they made plans to meet again in Hermione’s lab. She had won a fellowship from St Mungo’s to continue her own research into memory studies, and was quite interested in Draco’s ideas.

“You know,” she said when they’d reached the door, “I think you might consider sending Ron that letter. He wouldn’t see it as an inappropriate medium, and to be honest he might actually hex you on sight. I’ll put in a good word, but I think it would help. And as for Harry, well...” she sighed and waved a dismissive hand in front of her. “He’s always been a bit ... odd ... when it comes to you. I know his testimony on behalf of you and your mother was important, though. You might want to send him an owl, too. He’s not much for confrontation these days.” She smiled at Draco. “You’ve changed, Draco Malfoy. I never thought I’d ever want to see you again, but honestly I’m so glad I have. As loathe as I would’ve been to admit this yesterday, you were my only real competition in our year.”

 

Ten years later, the Granger/Malfoy research team had made huge strides not only the field of memory studies, but also in the adaptation of muggle treatment methods to various wizarding maladies. They had even organised an international conference between muggle and magical medical researchers, getting the British and French Ministries’ approval for the collaborations. While he wasn’t on speaking terms with Ronald Weasley or Harry Potter, he had indeed sent them letters and received - terse though they may have been - responses. Hermione attended Draco’s wedding solo, and while he had been invited to the great Granger-Weasley union of 2003, he’d declined to attend. Though he counted Hermione as one of his closest friends, he didn’t wish to see her day marred in controversy when a Death Eater showed up to the celebration.  
  
“You really give yourself too much credit, Draco,” Hermione had teased him one day in his lab in Paris, her hair in a frizzy halo that reminded him so much of her at fourteen that he had taken to calling her ‘Granger’ all day.

“I deserve all the credit that’s ever been given to any mortal, Granger. But to what are you referring in this instance?” Draco drawled from his prone position, carefully studying the reaction happening in the cauldron below him.

“You always refer to yourself as a ‘Death Eater’, but to be honest, you were quite shit at the whole thing. Crying when you had to Crucio someone; vomiting when you saw a murder. Being unable to hand over your arch-nemesis to your boss. It’s really quite embarrassing for you.” Hermione turned and flashed him her brightest smile. Draco sent a light stinging hex to her bum. He’d never let on to anyone how much it warmed his heart to know that Hermione was comfortable enough with their pasts that she was able to joke about it.

Draco was startled out of his reveries and back to the chilly London afternoon when he nearly ran full-body into a couple who were standing in a long queue. He managed to side step them, and wondered for what they could possibly be braving the January temperatures.

“Excuse me, but what are you queueing for?” he asked one of the young men he almost walked into moment before.

“Weinberg’s, innit? Lunch rush and all. Worth the wait though,” he responded, wrapping his arms around himself and stomping the ground. “Colder than a witch’s tit today, eh mate?”

If there was an establishment that warranted this level of customer loyalty just steps from his lab, he reasoned that he ought to try it. Draco nodded absently and stepped in line, surreptitiously casting a gentle warming charm on himself and his companions. “Huh! Must be a vent somewhere giving us some warm air.” The young man looked up and around him, searching for the source of the warmth. Finding nothing, he shrugged and busied himself on his mobile device.

Ten minutes later Draco was close enough to the door that he was able to read a sign proclaiming, “Weinberg’s Deli, est. 1947” in neon red. The inside was full to the brim: people standing and eating huge sandwiches and sipping sodas at a wooden counter; others sat at tables scattered in the rather small space afforded to in-house dining. Draco found that he quite liked the old feel of the place - the black and white tiled floor and wooden countertops reminded him of muggle films he’d seen that were set in New York City and run by no-nonsense women.

He perused the handwritten menu, and noted with some amusement that the sandwiches were all uniquely named: there was one called “The Trollied Turkey,” another named “Not Your Nan’s Ruben,” and even the “Feeling Peckish? Pecorino” sandwich. Under the heading “Today’s Specials” was something called “The Roonil Wazlib,” which was apparently a sandwich made up of chicken schnitzel, horseradish sauce, and radicchio on toasted challah. The name tugged at something in Draco’s memory, but he couldn’t put his finger on why he would have any familiarity with something called “Roonil Wazlib.”

When he finally came to the front of the queue, he decided to take his chances with the Roonil and added a side of “Harry’s curry potato salad.” His order was taken by a rather burly man with a thick brown beard and a warm smile, wearing a button down shirt with the name “Dudley” embroidered over the left breast. The chef kept to the kitchen, apparently, as after a five minute wait Draco saw a disembodied, tanned hand push a brown sack through a small window behind the register. “I’ve got one Roonil Wazlib with a side of Harry’s potatoes?” The man at the register called through the crowd. Draco came forward to claim his order, and hastily made his retreat back to his lab to enjoy his lunch.

He was not disappointed in his decision to brave the cold and the crowd to get his meal. The sandwich was delicious, and the potato salad was pleasantly spicy. Two days later he returned to again buy his lunch, this time ordering “The Deamus,” a grilled sandwich made with sharp Irish cheddar and chutney. By the time that winter was giving way to spring, Draco had made his way through most of the menu and hadn’t found anything he didn’t enjoy (although some of the Indian-inspired sandwiches and dishes were a bit too spicy for his admittedly delicate palate).

On a bright Sunday in mid-April, Draco was forced to bring Scorpius with him to lab to check on the progress of a new Wolfsbane draught he was working on. Draco tried to avoid bringing him to his lab - he loved his son with all his heart, but not only was Scorpius terribly clumsy, he was also a precocious child and prone to poking and prodding any and all experiments he found in the lab - so he promised him a treat in exchange for good behaviour. After he’d finished taking notes on his potions, Draco glanced at his pocket watch and was pleased to note that it was just past two o’clock in the afternoon. Weinberg’s should be open, and their lunch rush (weekends were no exception to its popularity, he’d found) over.

“But Papa, if humans evolve to get rid of things that they don’t need on their bodies, then why do boys have nipples?” Draco was in the process of ushering Scorpius into the deli, and was relieved to find it empty, save for an elderly man and three children seated at a table near the window.

“I don’t know, Scorpius. Perhaps you can ask cousin Luna. She’s always eager to discuss things with you.” Draco answered his son’s question as he read the menu, trying to remember if Scorpius was a practicing vegetarian this month. His tastes seemed to vacillate week to week. “Would you like a cheese toastie? Perhaps a bowl of soup?” Hearing no response, he looked down and saw that his son was no longer at his side. “Scorpius…?” Draco turned and saw his son approach the table by the window where the group of four sat. Two of the children had their heads bent over the table and were drawing; the oldest of the three was reading what looked at be a muggle comic and the old man was immersed in a newspaper. Scorpius stopped near the younger boy with inky black hair and lightly golden skin. Draco was immediately reminded of a miniature Harry Potter.

“Hullo. I’m Scorpius. I’m five and a half. Are you five? We look like we’re the same age. What are you drawing?”

The boy glanced up at Scorpius with a slightly alarmed look on his face, but he answered nonetheless. “Hi, I’m Al,” he said quietly, twisting the marker in his hands. “I’m five, too. I’m drawing the giraffes I seen at the zoo yesterday.”

“Giraffes you saw at the zoo, Albus.” The old man spoke without looking up from his newspaper.

“I think giraffes are the best savanna animals because they have black tongues!” Scorpius responded quickly, leaning over to look at Al’s drawing.

“Scorpius, come back here and lets order our lunch, please.” Scorpius walked back over to his father, frowning.

“Je voulais seulement dire bonjour, papa!” Scorpius always reverted to speaking in French when he was frustrated. “Je n'ai presque pas d'amies en Londres!”

“Je sais, mon chouchou.” Draco responded, placing a hand on his son’s small shoulder. “Mais, en anglais s’il vous plaît. Perhaps we can speak to the young man again when we’re done eating.” Scorpius’ expression brightened and he nodded at his father.

“OK, papa. I want just a cheese toastie, then.”

Dudley, the genial, bearded man who’d always been behind the counter appeared from behind a swinging silver door and approached the register to take their order.

“Hello, again! And you’ve brought your clone, I see. He’s the spitting image of you!” He smiled broadly at Scorpius, who gave him a small smile in return. “What’ll it be for you today?” He asked Draco.

He ordered for Scorpius and then himself, hastily choosing the day’s special without much thought. “I’ll have The Sophia, please.” “The Sophia,” the specials sign read, “classic egg salad on grilled rye, served with a bowl of matzo ball soup and a warm hug!” He’d never had matzo ball soup before, but the sandwich was served with it and he’d not tasted anything he’d not liked at Weinberg’s before.

Dudley smiled. “Good choice! Served with a hug, you know.” He winked and called over his shoulder, “Harry! One Sophia!”  
  
“Papa? Can we sit near Al? I promise to eat my whole lunch and not complain and mind my manners.” Scorpius tugged at his father’s jacket to get his attention.

Draco smiled down at his son. “Alright, chouchou. Go pick a table.”

At that moment the silver door swung open, and Draco felt like he’d been punched in the chest. Harry Potter strode towards the counter, wiping his hands on a blue apron and smiling. “Who ordered The Sophia, Dud?” He asked. “I owe them a hug!”

 

**1998**

Harry went back to the deli every day that first week that he’d discovered it. The Weinberg’s welcomed him happily every evening except for Friday: when he reached the door to the deli he found the lights off and a small package of matzo ball soup under a disillusionment charm with a note explaining that they were attending Shabbat services.

When he was at the deli, Harry felt relaxed and comfortable in a way that he hadn’t felt since he arrived at Hogwarts as an eleven year old. He didn’t feel pressured to talk about the war during the long hours he spent eating soup and learning how to make knishes. Instead, Saul would tell Harry stories about growing up in Germany and working in his father’s deli, about summers spent swimming in lakes and climbing trees. He would speak quietly and fondly about his large, loud family that didn’t make it out of the camps, sometimes stroking the numbers tattooed on his forearm absently while he described his little sisters. He talked about life with Sophia after the war, about coming to England and opening the deli. He talked about what it was like to discover the existence of magic, and how hard it had been for Sophia to leave the wizarding world behind. He talked about forgiveness, and he talked about healing.

Little by little, Harry began to tell his own stories. He told Saul about his parents, and about Dumbledore while he helped Sophia to peel potatoes for latkes. He talked about living in the forest, about hunting horcruxes, and he talked about watching Sirius die. The grief, dejection, and anger that felt all-consuming gently abated over time.

Saul and Sophia never tried to get Harry to talk more than he wanted to or was able, and they were sensitive to him when he couldn’t finish a story. A plate of rugelach and a kerchief were always pushed towards him when he needed it; a warm hand placed on his arm to let him know they were there. They gently encouraged him to write back to his friends and family, and they wrapped Hermione and Ron in tight hugs when he finally brought them ‘round to the deli.

He split the holidays between the Weasleys and the Weinbergs, and found solace in sitting around the fire of Grimmauld Place with a book and a mug of tea. Harry sought the help of a Mind Healer, and learned about PTSD.

Harry knew Saul and Sophia didn’t have children of their own, and he often wondered if he was filling a hole in their life as much as they were filling one in his.

He thought about the quote that hung near the door every day, wondering how to choose his own way after a lifetime of being led by prophecies and other men’s plans.

 

**September 1, 2009**

“Are you sure this is how you want to do this, Harry?” Ginny asked, reaching out to grab a handful of the back of Al’s shirt as he tried to launch himself at his brother.

“Yeah Gin, I’m sure,” Harry replied, shouting a bit to be heard over the din of the Hogwarts Express pulling out of the station. He adjusted Lily carefully from where she was tied to his chest - she had somehow managed to fall asleep in her carrier despite the noise, and her knee was digging into Harry’s rib.

Ginny nodded and gave Harry’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll be by Thursday to pick up the monsters. Don’t forget to ask Saul about the recipe book for Mum, ok?”

“Got it. See you Thursday. Have a great match.” Harry tried to cup his hands over Lily’s ears and yelled, “Jamie! Al! Come on, we’re off!” His sons were standing close to the tracks and gazing longingly after the scarlet train.

“Dad, do you think Teddy will write letters to me especially? Not to you and mum, but just to me?” Jamie asked, running up to Harry’s side and tugging on his sleeve to get his attention.

“He said he would Jamie, and I’m sure he will.” Harry replied, wondering if the hero-worship that Jamie had for his godbrother would ever dissipate. “Now, give your mum kisses and hugs. You won’t see her until Thursday.”

Jamie quickly pivoted and wrapped his arms briefly around his mother’s waist, yelling, “Bye mum!”

Albus walked over to Ginny and raised his arms, waiting for her to pick him up. She snuggled him close and Al leaned in, first giving her cheek a wet kiss and then moving to whisper in her ear. Ginny nodded at whatever Al had said, and gave him one more squeeze before setting him back down. “Listen to your father, my little monsters.”  
  
Harry pulled Ginny into as best a hug as he could manage with an 11 month old child strapped to his chest. “Bye, Gin.” Al and Jamie grabbed a hand on either side of their father, and together the four of them walked back through the barrier and out into King’s Cross.

“Dad, can we watch a show when we get to Zayde Saul’s house?” Jamie asked, craning his neck to look up at his dad. His red hair and lightly tanned skin seemed to glow as they walked through a patch of sunlight streaming into the train station. “And I want corned beef for lunch, but no mustard it’s too spicy and I hate it!”

“When we get to Zayde Saul’s house we have to work on unpacking, OK Jamie? We talked about this already. But maybe we can watch a movie tonight, after dinner.”

Al took his thumb out of his mouth and added, “Movie! Yes! Popcorn too, dad?”

“If you’re good helpers, then yes. We can have popcorn,” Harry replied as they made their way through to the Underground station. He hated taking all the kids on the Underground during rush hour, but it was the quickest way to get back to Shoreditch before the movers arrived. He had wanted to see Teddy off this morning before he left for his first year at Hogwarts, and Jamie had thrown an epic tantrum when Harry hinted that he might want to stay home instead of coming with. And where Jamie went, so went Al. And Lily. It had made sense at the time that he and Ginny made the plan, but now that the was shuttling his three children through the throngs of commuters, he wondered at his own stupidity. He had wanted a clean break, a way to say goodbye to living in the Wizarding World and to his marriage, and he felt like doing it at Platform 9 ¾ was a meaningful and fitting place to bid farewell. Ginny had rolled her eyes and called him a drama queen, but she’d had tears in her eyes and had pulled him into a crushing hug.

Last winter Sophia had fallen ill and died quite suddenly. Harry and Ginny had spent the weekend following sitting shiva and helping Saul sort through her belongings. They passed long hours going through albums full of photos documenting vacations and adventures, making piles of clothes to give away and filling boxes with tchotchkes to give to the Potter children. After the final load had been donated and Saul had shut himself in his room, Harry had found Ginny crying on the sofa in the sitting room, holding a paper yellowed with age in her freckled hands.

“Oh, Gin. I know. I miss her too.” Harry tried to console his wife, rubbing her lower back in gentle circles.

“It’s not … it’s not just that, Harry.” Ginny wiped the back of her hand roughly across her cheeks to clear the tears that had gathered there. “I want this,” she held out the paper to him, gazing into his eyes with the blazing look he knew so well. He’d gone on to read the love letter written to Saul from Sophia: two pages of declarations and promises written with such passion and emotion that Harry was both pink-cheeked and weeping by the time he reached the end. He met his wife’s eyes and realised that he, too, wanted this. He wanted the type of love that elicited letters like this one. They’d sat on the sofa and held each other while they cried, mourning the life they’d built together but each knowing that they craved something more.

Harry quit the Aurors and decided to move in with Saul to help him run the deli. He’d been as good as living there while Sophia was sick, and after the media shitstorm that happened when his and Ginny’s divorce became public he was more than happy to leave Wizarding London.  
  
And so, six months after Sophia died, Harry, James, Albus, and Lily Potter walked into the townhouse next to Weinberg’s deli and began a new chapter of their life.

**April 10, 2011**

Draco stood in the deli feeling like he had just been hit with the full body-bind curse. He hadn’t laid eyes on Harry Potter since his trial had taken place in the month following the war, but he’d thought of him nearly every day. Draco knew that he was in love with Harry - he’d accepted this fact in the middle of their fifth year at Hogwarts - but it had taken him several years to stop hating himself for it. Realising he was gay was one thing, but realising that he wanted to push his self-proclaimed arch nemesis into the nearest alcove and snog him senseless was something else entirely. He had a recurring nightmare in which, after being rescued from the burning Room of Requirement, he tried to embrace Potter and was immediately thrown back into the flames by his disgusted saviour.

He had long resigned himself to pining from afar. It was, he thought, quite Byronian; he’d always had a penchant for the dramatic and his lovelife ought to follow suit. News of the Golden Couple’s divorce and Potter’s subsequent disappearance from the Wizarding World hadn’t caused Draco’s feelings to abate; if anything, the mystery surrounding the whereabouts of The Chosen One only heightened his longing.

Now, face to face with the object of his affection, Draco was unable to move. The telltale tingling in his fingertips began, and he had to remind himself to take deep breaths.

“He’s right over there, Harry! And if you ask me, he certainly looks like he could use a hug.” The man behind the counter gestured to where Draco was standing completely motionless.

“Circe’s perky left … Malfoy?!” Potter looked just as shocked to see Draco was to see him. And he, bastard that he was, looked incredible. His black, wavy hair had been given some sort of direction so it looked more ‘tousled’ than ‘rat’s nest’, and his tan skin seemed to glow in the afternoon light. He’d upgraded his spectacles since Hogwarts and was now sporting plastic black lenses that suited his angular jaw line, which was darkened by at least a day’s worth of stubble. The blue apron that he wore over a fitted shirt and plain denims did nothing to hide the fact that he’d filled out from a malnourished, exhausted teenager to a grown man. His shoulders were broad and he looked as if he’d even grown taller.

Draco just gaped at him, unable to formulate a coherent response.

“Do you know my papa? Hi! I’m Scorpius Malfoy. I’m five and a half and I just moved to London from Paris. Have you been to Paris?” Scorpius had run to his father’s side, and was now standing between him and Potter. He stuck his little hand out to the other man, the mitten that was clipped to his jacket sleeve swinging wildly, and waited. Draco held his breath, sure he was about to watch his son be rejected by Potter just as he had been at eleven years old.

Potter looked between Draco and Scorpius, and then stooped forward to take Scorpius’ hand in his much larger one. He smiled.

“Hullo there. I’m Harry. Yes, I knew your papa when we were younger. We went to school together. I’ve been to Paris, but it was just once and it was a long time ago. I remember quite enjoying the chocolate crepes.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Harry. Oh yes, they make wonderful chocolate everything in Paris but I’m not allowed to eat it much because it’s not good for my teeth or for my tummy. Papa eats it all the time and he thinks I don’t see him sneaking it but I do.” Scorpius grinned up at Potter. “Are you his papa? The boy’s over there?” He gestured behind himself vaguely in the direction of the occupied table. “Only, he looks just like you but small. He said his name is Al and that he’s five just like me.”

Potter nodded. “Yes, those are all my children, actually. The tall one with red hair is James, the one with dark hair like mine is Albus, and the little girl is Lily. And that’s their Zayde, the man with the newspaper. His name is Saul.”

Scorpius walked back over to the table. “Hi everyone! I’m Scorpius Malfoy and perhaps if I’m good and eat my lunch we can play later?” He waved both his hands at the assembled Potters. Turning back, Scorpius asked, “What’s a Zayde?”

“It means he’s their grandfather. Err, well...adopted grandfather. Do you know what that means?” Potter responded.

“Yes! I have an aunt named Pansy but she’s not really my aunt. Papa says that family is who you choose, it doesn’t matter that she’s not blood. He also says that blood is overrated.”

Potter finally turned to Draco, hand outstretched and eyebrows raised, a smile on his handsome face. Draco had watched in silence as his son interacted so easily with the man he’d been infatuated with since adolescence. But then, Scorpius hadn’t inherited any of his father’s neuroses; he could carry on a conversation with a brick wall.

Draco reached out, aware that his hand was shaking but unable to do anything to stop it.  
  
“Potter,” he greeted, grasping the other man’s hand and nodding, hoping his voice remained steady. Potter’s hand was warm and slightly damp, but his grap was firm. “It’s been... years.”

Potter chuckled and let go of Draco’s hand. “Indeed, it has. I...well… The Sophia comes with a hug. The… what you ordered. Your meal. It was her speciality. Sophia’s, I mean.” Potter ran a hand through his hair and looked at the ground. He sounded a bit flustered. “She gave great hugs. So, here, let me hug you, Malfoy.”

Draco couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped him. Potter? Hugging him? In the middle of a muggle deli? For a moment he was worried that he’d passed out in his lab and would be slapped awake at any moment.

But no, here was Potter, closing the space between them with his arms outstretched. They were almost the same height now, and he wrapped his arms around Draco’s shoulders and squeezed weakly. Potter smelled like cooking oil. It was quite pleasant. Draco belatedly realised that he should return the gesture, but Potter was already pulling away when he’d begun to raise his own arms.

“Yes, well. OK.” Draco couldn’t help the words that spilled from his mouth. “Thank you?” It came out as a question.

A chorus of high-pitched giggling broke out behind him. Draco turned to see Scorpius and the Potter children watching them and laughing. The old man had put down his newspaper and was watching the scene from behind a pair of half-moon glasses. He looked highly amused, but was apparently able to keep his mirth contained.

“Papa, that was a terrible hug! You are usually very good at hugging.” Scorpius was standing next to Al and smiling. “Try again! Mr. Harry, I promise you my papa can give the best hugs.”

Potter had the audacity to laugh with the children. He opened his arms again. “What do you say, Malfoy? Give it another try?”

“Well, this is just…” Draco huffed out. Casting one last glance at his son that he hoped conveyed the depth of his unhappiness, he stepped into Potter’s waiting embrace and wrapped his arms around the other man’s hips. He allowed himself to pull him in tighter; this time his face was close to Potter’s neck and as he inhaled he smelled a dark, spicy scent underneath the cooking oil. Draco closed his eyes and allowed himself to really accept that he was currently being hugged by Harry bloody Potter.

They broke apart and stood staring, holding each other at arm’s length. Draco heard the sound of a throat clearing and he sprang away from Potter, brushing invisible dirt from his coat in an effort to look calm and collected, despite feeling anything but.

“Well, that was the most painfully awkward thing I’ve witnessed in ages! Thanks for the entertainment, Harry.” Draco looked around and saw the man at the register smiling broadly. “I’m Dudley, Harry’s cousin.” He held a meaty hand out to Draco, who took a few steps forward to meet him.

“Draco Malfoy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dudley nodded his head. “You’ve been in coming in for months. It’s nice to put a name to the face. I usually just call you, ‘blond bloke who smells like flowers.’”

Draco snorted. “I’m glad I don’t usually smell like whatever potion I’ve been working on. I’ve a laboratory just down the street.”

“Oh, right! Of course. Hermione told me you’d moved back to England.” Potter had stepped forward and was now leaning against the wooden counter, his right foot crossed over his left and looking as casual as ever. Draco felt like his world had just been taken by the shoulders and given a rough shake.

Draco nodded and responded, explaining his relocation to London as if having a civil conversation with Harry Potter was an everyday occurrence. “Yes, we moved in January. Scorpius’ mother and her new wife wanted a change and we didn’t want our son to have to travel back and forth, going to school in one country and sleeping in another.” Draco looked behind him and saw that Scorpius was now deep in conversation with Al and Lily. Jamie was still reading his comic book, seemingly unaffected by the scene in front of him.

Potter was smiling at him. It was disconcerting to say the least. He suddenly straightened said, “Oh! I’m sorry. This is Saul Weinberg, the owner,” he gestured to the man wearing the half-moon spectacles who was still seated at the table, “and my dear friend. Saul, this is Draco Malfoy.”

Saul pushed back his chair to stand as Draco hurried over to him to shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Your establishment is extraordinary. I think I’ve tried most of the menu and I’ve enjoyed it all.”

Saul, still grasping Draco’s hand, beamed at him. “Ah, so this is Draco Malfoy!” Draco blanched and looked back at Potter, who had his put hands over his eyes, a blush rising on his neck. Dudley laughed again.

“Please, sir, I promise that the prat who went to school with Potter is not the person who stands before you today,” Draco tried to explain, horrified that this man had heard all the terrible things that he’d done to Potter at Hogwarts.

“No, no, boychick!” He waved his hand dismissively. “Who among us wasn’t something of a schmuck when we were boys?”

“Here, here!” shouted Dudley, reaching over to pry Potter’s hand away from his eyes.

“Papa, what’s a schmuck?” asked Scorpius.

“Saul, don’t!” said Potter, just as Saul opened his mouth to respond. “It’s not a very nice word, Scorpius. I’m sure Saul won’t repeat it, will he?” Potter gave the old man a meaningful look.

“Schmuck schmuck schmuck!” said Lily, kicking her stockinged feet back and forth beneath the chair while she drew. Jamie snorted, finally looking up from his book.

“Nice one, Lil!” he said to his sister.

“Jamie!” Potter admonished.

Saul chuckled but bend to whisper something in Lily’s ear. The little girl giggled and said, “Sorry everyone!”

“As I was saying,” Saul went on, “the past is the past, eh? And from what Hermione’s said, you’re quite the Potions savant! It’s wonderful to finally meet you after all the these years.” Saul sat back down but he held Draco’s gaze, his eyes twinkling. “And the menu is mostly Harry! All compliments should go to him. Since Sophia’s been gone - my wife, fershtay - Harry’s taken over. And his innovations in the kitchen are a delight!”

“Well, my compliments then, Potter.” Draco turned and smiled at Potter, who put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor, blushing.

“To be fair, most of the recipes are Sophia’s. I’ve just … added to them. She was the real cook in the family.”

“All the same,” Draco replied.

They were still smiling at each other a moment later when Scorpius looked up from the table and said, “Papa, I’m hungry. Can I have my cheese toastie now? Also, Al and I are going to build a new zoo that lets you ride all the animals! Isn’t that a great idea?”

__________________

 _Here, let me hug you, Malfoy._ Harry groaned and threw his arm over his eyes. He had sounded like an absolute tosser this afternoon, and he couldn’t stop replaying the scene over and over in his head. Of course the first time he’d seen Malfoy in over a decade and he’d forgotten to actually make his order, his three year old daughter had sworn several times, and Dudley’s ribbing had gotten increasingly more suggestive as the afternoon wore on.

 _The thing about Draco Malfoy,_ Harry thought, _is that he just always looks so bloody good. Stupid, gorgeous prat. And me, with my dirty apron smelling of deli meats and demanding hugs. I hate that I’m in love with him._

 _No,_ Harry corrected himself, _I’m in love with the idea of him._

At least, that’s what Hermione had said. For the past ten years, Harry had heard stories about ‘Draco’ and how wonderfully he’d matured; how smart and funny he was; how handsome he looked in his laboratory robes (that last one was purely conjecture, but Harry was confident he’d cut quite a figure in those ivory research robes). Harry had read every single paper that he’d published, never mind that he’d only understood about half of what he was talking about. He’d fallen in love with his witty prose style and thirsted for the anecdotes that Hermione would share about this conference or that presentation. 

Before he and Ginny had split up, Harry had only let himself think about Malfoy in very vague terms. He knew that he was bisexual - and so did his family and friends; his and Ginny’s sex life had taken a turn for the best when he’d admitted that he’d love a nice cock in his arse - but he thought he was content with his love life. It was only very late at night, after he’d read some tragic love story or watched some idiotic romantic comedy that he’d let himself wonder what his life would be like if Snape had never heard the first half of that prophecy. The hatred he’d felt as a child for Draco Malfoy had morphed into obsession and something less easily defined around sixth year. Harry had been so sure of his own role in the war, and so sure of the black and white nature of good and evil. He never let himself question why he would have to school his thoughts away from images of white blond hair and long, pale fingers when he’d have a wank. Fifteen years later he had a pretty good idea why.

“Daaaaad.” Harry instantly recognised the beginning of a tantrum coming from his youngest. He opened his eyes and saw her running down the hallway, her pigtails coming undone and her chubby cheeks bright red.

“What’s wrong, Lils?” he asked, opening his arms and letting her jump onto his lap.

“Al said that when Scorpius comes to play I’m not allowed to play with them because I’m too little and I always get hurt! But it’s not true! I don’t always get hurt, he just always pushes me!” She scrunched up her nose and tried to wipe the lone tear that had fallen.

“Albus! Get down here!” Harry pushed the loose strands of Lily’s hair out of her eyes and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Of course you can play with your brother and Scorpius when he comes over. There’s no excluding anyone in this house, isn’t that right?”

Lily nodded and stuck her thumb in her mouth before lying her head on Harry’s shoulder. A moment later he heard thundering footsteps coming down the stairs and into the sitting room. Al stopped in the doorway looking sheepish. “Yeah Dad?”

“Did you tell your sister that she’s not allowed to play with you and Scorpius when he comes to play next week?” Harry asked.

Al shook his head.

“Yeth he did!” Lily yelled, not taking her thumb out of her mouth before shouting at her brother.

“No, what I said was that she’s only three. And Scorpius is already five and so am I and he’s my new friend. But I didn’t actually tell her that she’s not allowed, Dad.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Al was always finding loopholes.

“I’m almost four, Albus! And you don’t hafta be careful with me I’m big for my age! Right, Dad?” Lily looked beseechingly at her father.

“Al, you know that just because you didn’t say the words doesn’t mean that you didn’t imply that Lily wasn’t allowed. Do you remember what the word ‘imply’ means?”

Al nodded.

“But you and Scorpius are allowed to have some time to yourselves. You’re right.” Lily squawked indignantly. “Lily, everyone is allowed to have time away from their siblings. You and me and Jamie can do something special together while Scorpius and Al play.”

“I don’t want to do something special with you you’re just my dad and not a friend!” Lily pushed herself off the couch and ran from the room. Harry tried to tell himself that the words of a three year old didn’t sting.

“She’ll probably forget in a few minutes, Dad.” Al had walked completely into the sitting room and was using his toe to move a plastic car back and forth across the carpet. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, Al. I’m not mad. I just wish that you would be more considerate of your sister. You know she looks up to you.”

Al nodded. “OK, dad. I won’t exclude her, I know it’s not allowed.”

The timer Harry had set on the oven started to beep. “Go tell your siblings that dinner’s ready, please.” Al ran up the stairs shouting for Jamie and Lily, and Harry carefully slid the pan of lasagna out of the oven. He caught his reflection in the kitchen window and grimaced. He had bags under his eyes and a thick layer of stubble. He was certain he’d seen a gray hair on his head that morning. He was the complete opposite of Malfoy, with his perfectly pressed muggle trousers and stylish haircut. Harry would wager a thousand galleons that Malfoy’s hair would probably never turn gray; it would just gracefully shift from his trademark blond to a very elegant white. He’d look classic instead of haggard, as he was sure his own hair would look in another thirty years.

“Stop navel gazing, boychick.” Harry started and turned to see Saul entering the kitchen. “You’re a good looking young man so stop searching for flaws.” Saul winked and took his usual seat at the kitchen table. “I saw how that Draco Malfoy was looking at you today. I know he’d agree with me.” His eyes twinkled and Harry scoffed.

“Saul, I’m worried that your mind’s started to go. That, or you need a stronger prescription for your glasses. Malfoy wasn’t looking at me at all today.”

The three Potter children entered the kitchen just then, taking their seats and talking over each other.

The old man wagged his finger at Harry and chuckled. “If you weren’t so good in the kitchen I’d toss your skinny tuckus out on the street for talk like that!”

“Zayde’s right, Dad,” Jamie said, “Mr. Malfoy kept looking at you and smiling. And then you’d smile at him. It was weird.”

“Do you like Mr. Malfoy, Dad?” Al asked, looking horrified. “But if you date him and then you don’t stay together will Scorpius still be my friend?”

“Oi! Hush, all of you. I had a completely normal interaction with Malfoy today.” Harry set the lasagna in front of his family and sat down. “No more comments from the peanut gallery!”

Lily looked quite worried. “Am I a peanut, Dad? I thought that I was a human bean?”  
  
Harry sighed. “You’re a human being, Lils. Not a peanut. It’s just an expression.”

“Oh, good!” She used her fork to spear a piece of lasagna. “Do you date Mr. Malfoy now?”  
  
Harry laid his forehead on the table in defeat.

 

**One Week Later**

Draco smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from his pale pink cashmere sweater, took a fortifying breath, and rang the doorbell to the Potter’s home in Shoreditch. Scorpius was practically vibrating with excitement. Draco was vibrating with nerves. Where his son had talked non-stop about his upcoming playdate for the past week, Draco had thought non-stop about seeing Potter again.

The heavy wooden door swung open, and there stood a slightly harassed looking Potter holding Lily on one hip. She sniffled but smiled at Draco.

“Hello! Hi! Come in!” Harry gestured with his free hand to the foyer. Draco and Scorpius stepped inside. The front hall was littered with shoes and coats in various colours and sizes. Draco thought it looked exactly like a well-lived home should.

“And, right, sorry for the mess. We’re in the midst of a renegotiation of chores.” Harry tried to set Lily down but she let out a cry and clutched at her father. He sighed and straightened up, still holding his youngest.

“No, no, not at all. Thank you for the invitation to your home, Potter,” Draco said, smiling.

Al came thundering down the stairs. He stopped short of Scorpius and said a quiet hello to Draco. “Want to see my room?” he asked. Scorpius nodded, toeing off his shoes and throwing his coat at his father.

“Manners, Scorpius!” Draco chided his son, bending to pick up the discarded clothing.

“Oh, sorry Mr. Harry! Thank you for having me. Can we go now?” Scorpius looked between the adults, who both nodded. Draco sighed.

“I apologise for his manners. We’re ... working on polite interaction with adults. What time shall I return to pick up Scorpius?”

“You’re not staying?” Harry said, furrowing his brow.

“Do you want me to stay?” Draco asked, his heart rate picking up at the idea of spending the afternoon with Potter.

“Oh, well… no, I mean, would you like to have a cuppa?” Harry scratched at the back of his neck, his cheeks colouring.

“Yes, thank you.” Draco removed his scarf and placed it on a rack with Scorpius’ coat.

“Excellent! Yeah, just follow me. Kitchen’s through here.”

Potter walked down the short hallway and turned left at the foot of the stairs, taking them into a bright, airy kitchen. To their right was a large sitting room with several cosy-looking couches. Every available space was covered with photos: some were magical, but most were clearly muggle. Draco stepped forward and saw scenes of smiling Potter children at various ages; a man Draco recognised as Saul and a woman he imaged was his late wife Sophia were featured in many of them, looking lovingly at each other while visiting famous landmarks around the world.

“You have a lovely home, Potter.”

“Harry.”

“Sorry?” Draco looked up, confused.

“Call me Harry.” He grinned. “Please.”

“Oh, right. Harry.” Draco smiled. “And please call me Draco.”

“Right then! Please, sit. I’ve just made loads of fresh rugelach.”

Draco walked back into the kitchen and sat down at the round table near a large window. “Is that what smells like cinnamon?” He asked.

“Yes! They’re my favorite biscuits!” Lily squealed, finally sliding out of her father’s arms and taking the empty chair next to Draco. “Can I have one, dad? Instead of a sticker on my chart?” She turned to Draco and said proudly, “I didn’t have any wee accidents all week!”

“That’s very good, Lily,” Draco said politely. He was incredibly grateful that he hadn’t had to go through toilet training with more than one child.

“Sure, Lils,” Harry said, arranging what Draco assumed were the rugelach onto a small plate. “Here, why don’t you take some of these up to Al and Scorpius?” Lily clutched the plate with both hands as if she were carrying the finest china, and made her way slowly out of the kitchen.

“Do you not have to work at the deli today?” Draco asked, looking around curiously at the various muggle kitchen devices.

“Nah, we have a few employees these days. When Gin and I first split, though, it was just me and Saul. Sophia had only passed away the month before, and to be honest it was a mess. Saul is there, though - he never misses a day.” Harry poured water from the kettle an antique-looking teapot and settled a lacy tea cosy over it. “Earl Gray or something without caffeine?”

“Early Gray is perfect, thank you.”

“Two sugars, no milk, right?” Harry said, bringing the tea tray over to the table.

“And you’re one sugar with too much milk,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, I guess we weren’t fooling anyone in school, huh?” Harry laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“Ron and Hermione were seriously considering having me committed during sixth year. I think I spent more time watching you, trying to figure out your nefarious plans than I did actually learning anything the entire year.”

Draco paled. “Yes, well, to be fair, I did have nefarious plans.”

“And I did figure it out!” Harry said, chuckling. “Well … sort of. I knew you were up to something, at least.”

Draco didn’t have a response, so he looked down at his teacup. He wasn’t sure how to talk about the war with Harry; wasn’t sure that he had the right to be lighthearted in the same way that he was with Hermione.

“Hey, no! I didn’t mean to dampen the mood, Draco,” Harry insisted. “I guess I just thought that, well, we could sort of, err… move past it?”

Draco was taken aback. This was the second time in a decade that he’d had an actual conversation with the man, and he was suggesting that they set aside the fact that they fought on opposite sides of the war and ... what? Be friends?

Before Draco could think of a response, Harry continued. “What I mean to say is, we were played against each other in a war that neither of us were old enough to make any real decisions about, yeah? You were taught one thing growing up, and then threatened with the murder of your parents should you fail in what was obviously meant to be a suicide mission.”

Draco placed both hands flat on the table. “Do not excuse my behaviour during the war, Potter. I did things that were unforgivable. Don’t act like I was some innocent child.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Right, yeah, OK. What about me, then?”

Draco scoffed, suddenly remembering just how infuriating Potter could be. “Please. You literally saved not only the Wizarding World, but probably the muggle one as well. You made all the right decisions.”

“I may not have been faced with the same types of choices you were, and yes, OK, yes!” Harry threw up his arms. “You made some truly horrible decisions. But I was still a stubborn arsehole when I was fifteen.”

“No arguments here, Potter,” Draco muttered.

“At least I didn’t dress up like a dementor to try and throw a quidditch match,” Harry shot back.

“Yes, but then you wouldn’t have been able to impress the entire school with your corporeal patronus as a preteen, then would you?” Draco’s cheeks were red - he could feel them flushing. He remembered being scared half to death by that stag charging at him.

Harry burst out laughing. “Yeah, right, what a great moment for me!”

Draco gawped at Harry. “So, what do you suggest, then? We just agree to disagree that I was a prat, and now we’re friends?”

“No one would argue with you that you were a prat, Draco,” Harry said, smiling. He put one large, warm hand over Draco’s and looked at him. “I’m just saying that you weren’t some big, bad Death Eater. You heard what I testified to at your trial. I saw you struggle with what Voldemort wanted from you. You were judged, you did your penance.” Harry sat back and shrugged. “And hey, you’re good enough for Hermione to want to spend all her time with, and she’s an excellent judge of character.” Harry smiled broadly.

“How did you become so well-adjusted?” Draco asked, looking at Harry suspiciously. “Honestly. What you went through … I’ve read the book. Well, I’ve read all the books about the war.”

“I’ve been extremely lucky in my life, finding family and friends to support me.” Harry took a drink of his tea. “And of course there were the years and years of therapy.”

Draco laughed. “That I can relate to. I’ve a fantastic Mind Healer.”

A few minutes later Jamie Potter came running into the kitchen clutching an envelope to his chest. “Dad, can I use Skops to send this?”

“Jamie, you’re going to see Teddy in less than a week for Easter hols. Do you really need to send him another letter?” Harry responded, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes, I do. Where’s Skops?” Jamie asked, narrowing his eyes and looking very much like Ginevra Weasley.

Harry sighed. “He’s probably in the backyard. Make sure you give him a treat before he goes!” He flicked his wand in the direction of the back of the house as Jamie ran to the back door and wrenched it open. Draco cocked his head, silently asking what he was casting.

“Just making sure the Notice-Me-Not charm is still up back there. It would cause a lot of questions if the neighbours noticed that we had a pet owl.”

“Ah,” Draco replied, “I can imagine that living in a muggle area must cause some problems.”

“Yes and no. We actually do have a working Floo, but it’s only connected to Ginny’s flat, the Granger-Weasley’s, and The Burrow.” Harry ran a hand through his messy hair as he talked; Draco tracked the movements and idly wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked. He’d quite like to run his own hands through the inky black strands, perhaps pulling a bit and scratching his nails along Harry’s scalp…

Draco shook his head, trying to force the thoughts from his mind.

“You OK?” Harry asked, noticing the sharp movement.

“Yes! Yes, perfectly fine,” Draco said and cleared his throat, hoping that his emotions weren’t writ all over his face. He’d become increasingly terrible at masking his feelings as he’d gotten older; Astoria used to tell him that he’d used up all his Occlumency skills the year the Dark Lord had lived at the Manor. With the way that Harry was looking at him right now, smiling softly with his green eyes sparkling, Draco knew that he probably looked about as smitten as he felt.

He cleared his throat again and looked at the wooden floor, searching for a new topic of conversation. “So, have Jamie and Teddy always been close?” Draco asked.

Harry chuckled. “Well, Jamie’s always been a bit mad about Teddy. And Teddy, well, he tolerates him about as well as any pre-teen would tolerate an eight-year-old’s constant owls and requests for his attention.”

Draco nodded. “Teddy has always been a kind child, though. Aunt Andromeda has done a wonderful job bringing him up. And you as well, of course.” Draco’s mother had reached out to her estranged sister immediately following the war. Although it had taken a few years, the sisters were now thick as thieves. Scorpius loved spending time with his cousin, and Draco was quite taken with the young man as well.

“Thanks, yeah. Teddy’s a great kid. He’ll be home next week, although I’m sure you already know about that.” Harry looked up at Draco suddenly, as if just realising something. “Actually, you and Scorpius should come over for seder next week! Passover falls right over Easter this year, so we’re hosting a big family seder. We’d love you to come.”

Draco once again gawped at Harry. “You want me to come to a family gathering? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Harry waved his hand dismissively. “Hermione’s already cleared your way. She’s been warning us that she’d convince you one of these days to accept one of her invitations to this or that event, so we’ve all been expecting it to happen eventually. Ron calls you the ‘silent spouse’ in his marriage, by the way. He’s half certain she’s going to leave him for you.”

Draco laughed at that, shaking his head. “I’ve already married one woman I didn’t want to shag, I’m not going through that again.”

“You and Astoria weren’t...err…” Harry trailed off, looking unsure how to continue his question.

“We married each other for our bits, actually. She wanted an heir as much as I did, but we’re both gayer than Christmas. So we appeased our families and married. And Scorpius is the single best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Harry cocked his head. “So, you’ve never…? I mean, you weren’t in love?”

Draco shook his head. “Not romantic love. I love Astoria, but not in the way she loves her new wife.”

“Huh,” Harry said. He sat back in his chair. “Why didn’t you find a man to marry and adopt? You could always use a surrogate if you’re concerned about blood.”

Draco chose his next words carefully. “I fell in love quite early on in life. I knew then, as I do now, that that particular relationship would never happen. So, I chose another path. I’ve contented myself with my son and my work,” Draco looked down at his long-empty teacup. “For me, and of course this doesn’t go for everyone, but for me, I truly believe that I was destined to only fall in love only once.”

Silence fell. Draco winced internally, wishing he could take back what he’d just said.

After a few moments, Harry cleared his throat. “Have you ever heard of the idea of a soulmate?”

“Of course, Harry.” Draco responded, not looking up from the table.

“So, in Judaism, there’s this idea of finding one’s ‘destined,’ called b’shert. Saul always refers to Sophia as his soulmate, as the one that God had intended for him. Sophia would always roll her eyes and smile and tell him that it was quite the universe if God wanted them to go through a war just to find each other,” Harry laughed softly, his eyes shining. “I used to think that Ginny was my destiny, you know? That she was the one that the universe - or God, or however you want to imagine a sort of higher power - had chosen for me. That we, like Saul and Sophia, had endured a war and had still come together. But we never had what they had. Gin and I fit together neatly, and we had a nice marriage. Our children are the light of my life. But sometimes I think that I’d like to fall in love someday. To really fall in love. To feel the type of love that people write novels about. And if you’ve found that, then I think that’s really special. And I also think it’s unique. Not everyone has the chance to find their missing piece, you know?”

Draco didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say to Harry; he didn’t know how to communicate that his situation wasn’t pleasant or special but was actually painful and often sad.

“Have you ever told this person that you love them?” asked Harry.

“No. Of course not. It’s not… it’s just not possible, Potter.” Draco finally looked up, scowling.

Harry smiled. “Have you noticed that when you’re annoyed with me you go back to calling me ‘Potter’?”

Draco allowed his scowl to deepen. He was a champion scowler.

Harry put his hands up in surrender. “All I mean to say, Draco, is that you should give yourself the chance to be happy. You never know what’s going on in another person’s head. Unless they’re dead or married or something, then what’s the harm?”

“I appreciate you opening up to me about your life. I truly do. But you just have no idea what you’re talking about in this situation.” Draco moved to clean up the tea service.

“Hey! Don’t go. We can talk about something else. How ‘bout United’s chances for the league title this year?”

Draco stopped clearing the table. He looked at Harry and sighed. “I’d say we’d have a shot if not for your ex-wife’s team cleaning the floor with us last week.” He sat back down, unsure if he was happy to spend more time with Harry or if he was being masochistic. Pansy would probably say the latter, and she was an infuriatingly good judge of Draco’s habits.

Another hour later, a chime sounded from the living room and Ginny Weasley stepped out of the Floo.

“Alright, Harry? I’ve come for the monsters! Are they ready?” she called.

“Oh, bugger!” Harry cursed, starting at Ginny’s voice. “Jamie! Al! Lily! Your mum’s here!” he yelled, pointing his wand at his throat to make his voice heard up the stairs. “In here, Gin!”

Ginny walked into the kitchen, eyebrows raised. “Malfoy! What’re you doing here?” Her tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t quite warm, either.

Draco rose to his feet. “Hello, Ms Weasley. My son Scorpius is here playing with your children. I would’ve thought Harry’d told you?” He glanced at Harry who was grabbing several toys off of the floor and throwing them into a bag.

“Oh, he did tell me. I just didn’t realise that you’d have stayed … but, hey! Here you are. And please, call me Ginny.” She held a freckled hand out to Draco and smiled, if a bit tightly.

Draco shook her hand. “Yes, well, Harry invited me in for tea and I suppose we lost track of time…” Draco trailed off, feeling incredibly awkward.

Just then Lily ran into the kitchen.

“Mum!” Lily cried, launching herself into her mother’s arms. “Guess what? Scorpius taught me how to roll my whole body over my head! Wanna see?” She wiggled down to the ground, and crouched down. Very slowly she set her head down between her legs and threw her legs over. “TA-DA!” She yelled.

“That’s very impressive, honey!” Ginny said, giving her daughter a high five. “Where are your brothers?”

“Oh, they’re playing Aurors in Jamie’s room. They said I could play but I didn’t wanna be sat with my hands tied while they rescued me. It was boring.”

“Jamie! Al! Scorpius!” Harry yelled again, hanging Ginny the now full bag of assorted toys and stuffed animals.

A moment later the three boys came into the kitchen, all yelling at once.

“Can Scorpius sleep over at our house?” Al asked Ginny, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Can I sleep over at Al’s mum’s house?” Scorpius asked Draco at the same time.

“Can I stay here tonight if they’re all having a sleepover?” Jamie asked Harry.

The adults all looked at each other, unwilling to contradict one another.

“Scorpius, you’re supposed to stay at your mother and Millicent’s tonight. I’m sure they’d be very sad if you changed your plans at the last minute,” Draco said to his son.

“Non, papa! Ça ne gênera personne!”

“English, Scorpius. And yes, they will be upset. How about we make a plan for a sleepover another night?” Draco responded.

Scorpius scowled at his father.

Harry laughed. “He looks exactly like you do when you make that face. It’s adorable.”

“You think it’s adorable when Draco scowls?” Ginny asked, grinning wickedly.

“I, no, what?” Harry spluttered.

Jamie looked between all three adults and shook his head. “Grownups are so weird. Mum, can we go now? I wanna watch Doctor Who.”

“Do you promise we can have a sleepover soon?” Al asked his dad, a serious expression on his face.

“Yes, Al. Draco and I will figure out a time that you two can have a sleepover.” Harry knelt to the floor. “Now give me hugs and kisses. All three of you!”

Lily ran to her father and gave him several wet kisses on both of his cheeks. Al rolled his eyes and acquiesced to a quick hug; Jamie put one arm around his dad’s shoulders and shouted, “Bye!” before running towards the Floo.

Ginny waved and followed her children out of the room, winking at Harry before shouting, “see you soon, Malfoy!”

Harry walked Draco and Scorpius to the front door, apologising for his lack of Floo connection.

“It’s fine, really,” said Draco as he helped his son into his coat. “Scorpius loves the Underground. And if I’m honest, Floo-travel always makes me queasy.”

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Harry. I had a really fun time!” Scorpius said while he tried to zip his coat himself.

“You’re welcome, Scorpius, You’re welcome any time. And thanks for spending the day, Draco. It was really nice to have you here.” Harry smiled broadly held out his hand. Draco shook it, looking into his bright green eyes one last time before descending the cement steps that led to the street.

“Oh, wait!” Harry shouted, running down the steps to catch up with them. “Will you come to seder?”

“To be honest, Harry, I have no idea what a seder is. But yes, we’d love to come.” Draco let himself answer without considering too much. He desperately wanted to see Harry again, and if he had to brave an army of Weasleys to do it, so be it.

“That’s great! Really great. I’ll send you some information to read. It’s a celebration of Passover, to commemorate the Jewish slaves leaving Egypt. I’m sure we have some kids books around somewhere that explains it all. It’s really important to Saul that we celebrate it, so it’s become a Potter tradition even though none of us are actually Jewish.” Harry smiled again at Draco. “I’ll owl you the details. See you next week!” He waved and jogged back up the cement steps to his front door.

“Mr. Harry sure seems to like spending time with you,” Scorpius said as he and Draco walked towards the Underground station.

“Did you have fun today?” Draco said, ignoring his son’s comment. He didn’t feel like he had the emotional capacity to at the moment to allow himself to think that Harry Potter enjoyed spending time with him.

“Yes, I did papa. I think Al is my best friend. I’ve never had a best friend, so I’m not sure but I think this is it!” Draco smiled down at his son, glad that at least one Malfoy and one Potter were on even footing.

 

**April 29, 2011**

Harry loved his children. He honestly, truly, completely loved them with all his heart. But right now, he wanted to lock them in the garden and never let them back in the house. Guests were due to begin arriving at the Potter/Weinberg household in less than an hour and Lily was currently running through the house wearing only her underpants and a tea towel wrapped around her neck like a cape, Al was refusing to come out of his room until Jamie apologised for whatever it was that Jamie had done, and Jamie was sat in the living room reading the newest Spiderman comic, casual as you like.

“I swear to Merlin if you three don’t start cooperating you’re all going to lose screen time for the next year!” Harry yelled, forgetting he was holding a spatula and not his wand so the summoning charm he tried to cast at the comic book failed.

“Dad I already set the table! What more do you want?!” Jamie complained from his place on the sofa. “I think you and mum only had children so that you wouldn’t have to do chores any more!”

“Yes, Jamie. You got it in one. The only reason your mother and I decided to have children was to avoid menial tasks. And guess what? Our plan failed miserably because you lot are the least helpful children in the history of creation!” Harry shouted.

He heard slow footsteps descending the stairs, and he rolled his eyes. Al’s favourite passive aggressive action was to stomp down the steps as slowly and loudly as possible to let everyone within earshot know just how upset he was.

“Albus Severus Potter get down here right now! I need you and your brother to finish setting the table because Jamie only put out plates!”

Just then the doorbell rang. Harry took a deep, steadying breath. It was probably just Dudley, he told himself. He heard Saul make his way down the hallway to answer the door, so he returned to attempting to maintain the shape of the flourless chocolate cake he’d been trying to coax out of the pan.

“Boychick, the Malfoys are here,” Saul called. Harry’s head snapped up and he turned around to see Scorpius and Draco standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Draco was holding a bottle of wine and looking incredibly handsome in his dark gray trousers and pale blue button down. He wasn’t a flashy dresser, but Draco always looked elegant and effortless. Scorpius was a miniature Draco, wearing dress pants and a dark blue shirt, looking around the kitchen curiously.

“Hello, Harry,” Draco began, holding the wine out to him. “I thought we might turn up early and help you set up? I know the last time that mother hosted a dinner without the help of any House Elves she nearly had a nervous breakdown.” He smiled, and Harry melted.

“I … you... wow, yes, thank you!” Harry said, so grateful he almost launched himself at Draco to hug him. He held off, but ended up shuffling forward awkwardly as he went to take the wine and ran into the side of the counter. Jamie laughed, still lounging on the sofa.

Al ran into the kitchen then, apparently motivated to appear quickly by the sound of his friend. “Hi, Scorpius! Come on, let’s go play in my room!”

“Hello, Albus,” Draco said, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder to stop him from running off. “Scorpius and I came early to help you prepare for all your guests. Why don’t we ask your father what we can do to help?”

Al looked crestfallen, but Scorpius turned to him and said, “Papa said that if I am polite and helpful then we can have a sleepover! So let’s be helpful and we can have a sleepover.”

“Scorpius, I said that I’d talk to Harry about having a sleepover. Please don’t twist my words,” Draco said, looking apologetically at Harry.

Harry chuckled. “Quite a pair we’ve got, huh? Al is always finding a way around what I’ve said.” He turned to the two boys. “How about you two and Jamie finish setting the table, and Draco and I will talk about a sleepover?”

Saul walked into the kitchen and set about supervising the boys. Jamie reluctantly pulled himself from the sofa and helped once Harry threatened to send him to his room for the duration of the evening, thereby losing the chance to see Teddy.

“What can I do?” Draco stood next to Harry at the counter, watching him arrange the cake on a plate.

Just then, Lily came running into the room, still wearing only her underpants. “Hi! I’m Superman and I’m here to save the day!” She crashed into Draco’s legs and stumbled backwards, laughing.

“Lily, why don’t we go find something more suitable for you to wear to dinner? I bet you’ve got loads of beautiful dresses,” Draco said, kneeling down to speak to her.

Lily’s face turned almost as red as her hair and she yelled, “I’m a superhero! They don’t wear dresses!”

“My mistake,” Draco replied, looking at her seriously. “Why don’t you show me what a superhero would wear to a nice dinner? Perhaps trousers and a bowtie?”

Lily giggled, her expression turning from cloudy to amused in the blink of an eye. Draco took her hand and they walked out of the kitchen, Lily exclaiming loudly about the virtues of Superman. He caught Harry’s eye and smiled as he left the room. Harry thought that if he lived a thousand years, he’d never tire of that smile or those shining gray eyes.

________________

“Thank you all for coming! Chag Sameach, as we say in Hebrew. I’d like to extend a special welcome to our newest guests, the Malfoys!” Saul said to the assembled mass of people now seated at the magically-enlarged dining room table. “Once again, our Harry has outdone himself. He’s spent the past three days cooking this feast, and it is absolutely delicious.” There was a murmuring of agreement around the table. They’d prayed, they’d sang, they’d told the story of Passover; it was almost time for dessert and for the children to find the afikomen, but Saul had taken the opportunity to make his annual speech. “When I first met Harry, he was nothing but skin and bones. And now look at him! He’s getting a gut!”

“Oi! I am not getting a gut!” Harry shouted over the laughter of his guests.

“It’s OK Harry, ‘Dad bods’ are in!” yelled George from across the table.

Harry looked appropriately disgruntled, but he was too overcome with happiness at the way the evening had turned out to be truly upset. Everyone had shown up with smiles on their faces, and no one had batted an eye at Draco and Scorpius’ presence. Draco had managed to coax Lily into a pair of spangly blue tights and a bright red dress - “Superman’s dress robes, Dad!” Lily had exclaimed when she came to show him her outfit - the boys had all behaved themselves, and no heirlooms had (yet) been broken. It was a Passover miracle.

“In all seriousness, I need to kvell a bit about my Harry,” Saul beamed and raised his glass of wine. “I count all of you as mishpocha, but Harry is the boy that Sophia and I never had. He came to us out of nowhere, and in the blink of an eye he’s taken over the deli and he and Ginny have given me three beautiful grandchildren. What more could a man want, I ask you?” He wiped away a tear. “And so tonight, I give thanks to everyone here and especially to my boychick. Hashem brought him to me and Sophia when we needed him. When we all needed each other. Cheers to you, Harry. Cheers to us all!”

“Cheers, Harry,” Draco murmured into Harry’s ear from the seat next to him. “And thank you for including me and Scorpius. This has been an extraordinary evening.”

Harry turned to look at Draco and smiled. He leaned in to be heard over the din of the dining room and replied, “No, thank you for coming! It’s wonderful to have you here. You’ve been such a help - I don’t know what I’d have done without you tonight.”

Draco inclined his head towards Harry in recognition of what the other man had said, and took a drink of wine. Harry stared at the long line of his throat, wondering what it might taste like were he to lick it.

“Blimey Hermione, you’re right!” Ron said loudly, startling Harry out of his reverie. Harry looked across the table to where his two best friends sat and noticed that Ron was staring at him and looked slightly ill.

“Right about what?” Harry asked.

“Nothing!” Hermione interjected, smacking her husband on the arm.

“Mum, why’d you hit dad?” Hugo said from his perch on his mother’s lap.

“Because your father has the social skills of a feral cat and I needed to stop him before he embarrassed himself,” Hermione explained to her son.

“But there’s no hitting in the Granger-Weasley family!” Hugo said, looking distressed. “Is Rose allowed to hit me now?”

“No, Hugo. I’ll apologize to daddy, you’re right that it was very bad manners and against the rules.” Ron gave Hermione a champion smirk. “Why don’t you go look for the afikomen with the rest of the kids?” She asked.

“Rose always finds it and it’s no fun to watch her win everything,” Hugo whinged to his mother.

“Well no one’s found it yet. I bet you can ask Teddy to help you look in the high-up places,” Harry said, and then lowered his voice conspiratorially, “and I’ll even give you a hint: focus on the bookshelves!”

“Thanks Uncle Harry!” Hugo called before launching himself off of Hermione’s lap and running out of the dining room.

“They’re so perceptive at this age!” groaned Hermione, rolling her eyes.

“Well maybe if you two weren’t so secretive there’d be nothing to cover up,” Harry said sulkily.  
  
“Oh, please!” Hermione shot back. “You and Ron have been sharing secret jokes since we were in first year!”

“That’s nothing compared to you and Malfoy!” Ron said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. “The other day I asked, ‘where’s the beef?’ and you started laughing for ten minutes and then Floo’d Malfoy so you could both cry with laughter,” Ron shook his head.

“Well if you’d come with us last month to the lecture on 1980’s muggle popular culture in North America then you’d also be in on the joke!” Hermione and Draco were both giggling now.

Harry smiled at his friends, enjoying how easily they included Draco into their conversation. He sighed and relaxed into his chair, pressing his thigh more closely to Draco’s. The table was crowded enough to pass the gesture off as accidental, but Harry’s stomach fluttered when he felt Draco return the pressure.

Just then Lily and Hugo came running into the dining room, waving the afikomen in front of them and squealing with delight. “WE GOT IT, ZAYDE!” said Lily, climbing onto her grandfather’s lap with little regard for his personal space. Saul winced as Lily’s knee connected with his stomach.

“Mazel tov!” he said, kissing the top of Lily’s head and ruffling Hugo’s curls. “Time for your chocolatey prize!”

Scorpius and Al entered the room then, whispering furiously to each other before nodding and approaching the end of the table where Harry and Draco sat.

“Papa,” Scorpius began, looking gravely at Draco. “Albus and I prepared a list of reasons why we should be allowed to have a sleepover, but we can’t really write yet so we just have to tell the reasons to you.”

Draco fought a smile and Harry tried to cover his bark of laughter by faking a cough. “Go ahead, Scorpius,” Draco replied seriously.

“We helped a lot before the guests came!” Al said quickly, “and didn’t complain about it except for once but I apologised.”

Scorpius nodded. “And we’ve been very polite to the adults and didn’t exclude the little kids even once! We even found the afikomen with Rose but we let Hugo and Lily find it again so they could get the prize.”

“That was very kind of you,” said Draco. “I think you two have earned a sleepover.”

Al and Scorpius cheered while Harry and Draco grinned at each other.

“Can you imagine what you’d have said to me 15 years ago if I’d told you that one day you’d be raising your sons to be best friends?” Ron said, observing the scene with a raised eyebrow.

“I’d probably have brought you up to see Madame Pomfrey,” Harry replied, laughing.

“Potter, you wound me,” Draco drawled, cradling his wine glass in his long fingers. “Are you implying that at fifteen you didn’t long for our offspring to socialise?”

Harry snorted. “Don’t pretend you thought about your future with me in it back then!”

Draco blushed and muttered something that sounded like, “You’d be surprised,” before taking a long drink of his wine.

Harry became distracted by Molly trying to start doing the dishes and forgot to further question Draco in his haste to stop her and demand she sit back and relax.

________________

Harry watched Draco as he hand washed the delicate serving dishes they’d used. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbows and he was humming to himself as he worked. After seeing the last guests out, Harry had gone upstairs to check on the boys. Despite their fervent declaration that they would stay up all night, both Albus and Scorpius were fast asleep.

Harry tracked the soapy rivulets of water that ran down Draco’s forearms, and the feeling of want overwhelmed him. Harry remembered the first time that he’d kissed Ginny, and the feeling that he associated most vividly with that kiss was triumph. Gryffindor had just won the Quidditch Cup, and he’d been welcomed into the common room like a conquering hero. He’d felt invincible in that moment - like he could do anything, be anyone - and so he’d grabbed his chance to be normal. He’d won the big game and he’d get the girl, just like in the all muggle movies he’d seen. It felt inevitable, really. Yes, he’d wanted Ginny, but he came to realise that what he wanted most was what Ginny represented: safety, family, and security. He spent the long nights on watch in the Forest of Dean while they were hunting for horcruxes imagining he and Ron would teaching their sons how to play quidditch in the field behind the Burrow while Ginny and Hermione fixed dinner, barefoot and pregnant. He’d been through enough therapy at this point to recognise that at the time, he’d needed to hold on to that narrative to cope with the trauma and uncertainty he had been dealing with (he winced internally at what either woman would say to him now should he disclose his daydreams to them).

Now, though, Harry was faced with a deep ache in his chest, a new sort of yearning that he’d never felt before. It was beyond a simple erotic desire for Draco - it was a need to see him in the kitchen every day, to wake up next to him and to kiss him goodnight. To see his smile and hear his sarcasm and experience his dry wit as often as possible. It took Harry’s breath away how much he wanted.

“Thanks so much, Draco,” Harry said, taking a wet plate from him and toweling it dry. “Cleaning up is much more enjoyable with you here.”

Draco smiled and dried his hands. “I’m happy to help. Thanks again for inviting us.”

“I’m glad you came. Both of you.”

“Scorpius is certainly taken with Albus. He hasn’t stopped talking about him since we first met you at the deli.”

“He’s a great kid. You’ve done a wonderful job with him.” Harry put the dry dish in the cupboard and turned to face Draco.

The tall blond laughed. “I’ll have to get that in writing. Last night Scorpius woke me up at two in the morning because he said he couldn’t sleep for wondering how gravity worked.”

“Get back to me when he starts asking questions about sex,” Harry sighed, thinking of Jamie’s progressively more difficult-to-answer queries.

Draco chuckled and leaned back against the sink, his arms braced behind him. “In all seriousness, Harry, this has been an absolutely wonderful evening.”

Following his instincts, Harry began to lean into Draco’s space. He came close enough so that his arms were bracketing Draco’s, his hands clutching the edge of the sink. He stopped and looked between the other man’s eyes, giving him time to signal that his advance was unwelcome. Draco’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t move out of the way - instead he took half a step forward. Harry closed the distance between them and pressed his mouth to Draco’s, his stomach fluttering as he felt soft lips press back against his own. He inhaled and the smell of dish soap and something faintly floral filled Harry’s nose. He drew back just enough to tilt his head and deepen the kiss, which stopped abruptly when Harry felt Draco’s hand press against his chest.

Harry opened his eyes and looked at Draco, who still had his eyes closed. His cheeks were slightly pink and his brow was furrowed as if he were in pain. The realisation hit Harry like a freight train: Draco was in love with someone else. He had only just told him last week that his heart had belonged to the same person since he was fifteen, and here was Harry, getting in the middle of a relationship that he himself had encouraged Draco to pursue.

“Oh fuck, Draco, I’m so sorry,” Harry began, taking several steps backward.

“What?” Draco said, finally opening his eyes and looking at Harry. “Sorry?”

“For that kiss… you told me last week … please, forgive me.” Harry hung his head, feeling like a complete arse.

“Forgive you?” Draco had his head tilted to side, regarding Harry with narrowed eyes. “You’re sorry for kissing me?” He straightened up and crossed his arms.

“Well, yeah, I mean, I shouldn’t have…”

“Of course. Right. Well, I’d best be going. I’ll collect Scorpius in the morning. Goodnight, Potter.” Draco swept out of the room and walked briskly to the front hall. Harry hurried behind him.

“Draco! Wait! I... I won’t try to kiss you again!” Harry came to a halt and watched as Draco knotted his scarf tightly around his neck.

“Yes, well, you’ve made that clear. Thank you for your hospitality. Please pass my thanks on to Saul.” Draco wrenched open the door and strode out into the night, not looking back to see Harry stood stock still in the doorway, feeling bereft and heartbroken.

________________

Draco leaned over the cauldron, keeping careful count of the number of widdershins stirs he was making with his wand. He straightened up and removed his goggles, writing several lines in his notes. He sighed and brushed his hair out of his eyes, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow. He had adjusted the climate charms in his laboratory to keep the tropical plants he was working with happy, and he was currently in his shirtsleeves but was seriously considering stripping down to his pants.

Draco glanced at his watch. It was Sunday afternoon, exactly fifteen hours and twenty six minutes since Harry Potter had kissed him.

Had kissed him and then promptly apologised, looking horrified with himself for having stooped so low.

He’d sent Astoria to gather Scorpius this morning at the Potter residence. He knew it was taking the coward’s way out, but he didn’t think that he could manage to actually look the man in the eye yet.

Possibly ever again.

There was a knock at the door of his lab, and Draco grumbled in annoyance. He didn’t want to deal with what was certain to be Granger, probably demanding to know why Harry Potter had checked himself into St Mungo’s after spending an evening in his company.

He threw open the door, not bothering to put his shirt back on. “Listen Hermione -,” he stopped midway through his sentence, completely gobsmacked to see Potter himself standing at the threshold.

“Err, hello, Draco,” Harry said, holding up a brown bag with the Weinberg’s Deli logo stamped across the front. “I’ve brought you lunch.”

Draco was completely caught off guard, so he didn’t react when Harry pushed past him and walked into the lab.

“Blimey, it’s hot in here!” He said, setting the bag down on one of the tables and taking off his coat.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked, closing the door to keep the temperature steady in the room.

“I told you, I’ve brought you lunch.” Harry said, looking around at the various cauldrons and potion ingredients scattered about.

“Yes, but why?” Draco repeated.

“Because you didn’t come to pick up Scorpius this morning, and I wanted to talk to you.”

“You could’ve sent an owl.”

“You wouldn’t have opened it.”

“You think you know me so well?”

“I do,” Harry replied, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He was wearing a faded green shirt with the Harpies logo splayed across the front, the thin material hugging his biceps in a way that made Draco’s throat go a bit dry.

“Fine. What do you want?”

“Eat your lunch, Draco,” Harry said as he began unpacking the contents of the bag he’d brought with him. He pulled out a styrofoam container and a spoon. “It’s matzo ball soup. I think you’re having a matzo ball soup emergency.”

Draco approached the table and opened the tub, realising how hungry he was the moment the salty scent of the soup hit his nose. “Fine. I’ll eat, you can tell me whatever it is you want to say. Was Scorpius a problem last night? I assume you’d have called or Floo’d if there had been an emergency.”

Harry waved his hand dismissively. “Scorpius was perfectly well behaved. He even complimented my pancakes and told me that you’d should take cooking lessons from me.” He smiled.

“Well, he’s five. Don’t look so smug.”

Harry sighed. “Look, Draco. I want to explain about last night.”

Draco choked on the bite of soup he was taking. “There’s nothing to explain, Potter.”

“Yes, there is. Just eat and listen, you prat.”

Draco scowled but didn’t respond.

“After I kissed you, you looked...well, you looked like you were in pain. You’d put your hand on my chest and drawn back, and I assumed you’d wanted me to stop. Honestly, Draco, you looked like you’d rather have been kissing a toad. And then I remembered what you’d told me last week, that you’d been in love with someone since you were fifteen. That you knew that you’d only ever fall in love once in your life, and you’d already done it. And then I’d gone and told you to just go for it before acting like a complete arse and kissing you.” Harry uncrossed his arms and looked at the floor. “In that moment, I thought that I’d crossed a line, that you’d made up your mind to pursue a relationship with this bloke and I’d kissed you without your permission.”

Draco stared at Harry with his mouth hanging open.

“Don’t say anything yet, OK?” Harry said, holding up one hand to stop Draco responding. “I just need to say my part, yeah?”

Draco nodded.

“OK, so, I spent all night thinking about this. And I know that you think that you’ll only ever fall in love once, but that’s bollocks! You have no idea what you want when you’re fifteen bloody years old.” He looked into Draco’s eyes, suddenly looking determined and passionate. His green eyes sparkled in the low light of the lab. “So I’m throwing my hat in the ring. I like you. I like you… a lot. Perhaps more than I should, considering that I’ve only spent a few hours with you in the past decade. And I think that we could have something truly special, if you’d just consider a future with me.” He took a deep breath, seemingly to steady himself. “Would you consider going on a date with me?”

Draco set the spoon he’d been holding down on a napkin and set both hands on the flat surface of the table. He looked back up at Harry. “Are you saying that you weren’t upset that you kissed me last night? That you interpreted my facial expressions in such a way that made you think that I didn’t return your desire for said kiss?”

“Err...yes?” Harry said, looking vaguely confused.

“You’re an absolute pleb, Harry Potter,” Draco said. “You have the social skills of Ronald Weasley. I wasn’t ‘in pain’ or in any way upset that you kissed me.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Wait, what?”

“I said that I wasn’t upset that you kissed me. I’m not currently upset that you kissed me. I was and am angry that you kissed me and then immediately apologised for it, looking for all the world like you deeply regretted your actions.”

“Wait, no! I thought -” Harry began, but it was Draco’s turn to hold up his hand to stop Harry from speaking.

“No, let me speak. I’ve wanted to kiss you since we were ‘fifteen bloody years old,’ “ Draco said, using scare quotes to parrot Harry’s words back to him. “I can’t imagine what my face must’ve looked like after you’d kissed me, but I certainly wasn’t in pain. I was confused, and nervous, and still am. I don’t know precisely why you kissed me in your kitchen last night, but I’d quite like it if you kissed me again. And again. Really, you have permission to kiss me whenever you’d like.”

Harry took two steps forward and put his large, warm hands on Draco’s hips. “You’ve wanted to kiss me since we were fifteen?” He asked, smiling. “So, that bloke who you’ve been in love with ...?”

“Harry, I’m not going to profess my undying love for you in this moment. It’s not the time.”

“Right,” Harry said before inclining his head and once again pressing his mouth to Draco’s. This time Draco immediately opened his mouth to the kiss, running his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip before nipping lightly at it.

Harry groaned and pressed Draco back against the edge of the table. Draco felt Harry try to take control of the kiss but he scratched his nails up Harry’s clothed back and he melted against him, ceding control. Draco put his hands in Harry’s messy locks and felt his stomach flip. His head felt simultaneously full and empty: he couldn’t fully comprehend the fact that he was actually messily snogging Harry Potter in his lab. He pulled at his hair lightly, trying to ground himself and make sure that he was present for this experience and not lost in his own head. He pulled back from the kiss and took a deep breath, letting his forehead press against Harry’s. He didn’t open his eyes.

“Draco, look at me,” Harry said.

“No. I’m afraid that if I open my eyes I’ll realise that I’m dreaming. That I’m in my bed and this is just a very vivid, very sexy dream. It’s happened before.”

Harry laughed. “Draco. Open your damn eyes you plonker.”

“You’ve never insulted me in my dreams. I suppose I’ll take the chance.” Draco allowed his eyes to flutter open, and Harry’s face came into focus.

Harry’s hands were still on Draco’s hips, but his thumbs were tracing slow circles where his pelvic bone stuck out from his body. “Are you OK?”

Draco snorted. “Yes, Harry, I’m OK.”

“Are you convinced you’re not dreaming?”

“Yes. Mainly because in my dreams we’ve never stopped at a kiss,” Draco ran his hands up Harry’s arms delighted at the soft feel of his tan skin.

“Oh? What do we do in your dreams?” Harry said, the pitch of his voice dropping.

“I generally have you bent over a lab table taking my cock,” Draco answered honestly.

Harry choked. “For the love of Merlin, Draco!”

“You asked. I answered.” Draco grinned, enjoying seeing how easily he could wind Harry up. This opened up a whole world of possibilities. “Would you like that, Harry? Would you like me to put you over this table and fuck you until you forget your own name? Perhaps spank you a few times for being such an arse last night?” Draco stopped, thrilled to feel Harry’s dick growing hard against his hip.

“Fuck, Draco. The mouth on you…” Harry gasped, rocking forward slightly against Draco.

“Oh, you have no idea, Harry,” Draco said, narrowing his eyes. “I have fifteen years worth of fantasies.” A trickle of sweat ran down Harry’s neck. Draco leaned over and licked it, eliciting another groan from him. “Would you like to see what else my mouth can do?”

Harry didn’t respond; instead he leaned in and kissed Draco again, rolling his hips against Draco’s. This time the kiss was sloppy and heated - there was no tentative touching or hesitant tongues.

Draco flipped their positions so that Harry was pressed against the table, and Draco dropped gracefully to his knees. He looked up at Harry as he unbuckled his belt, going slowly to give him time to stop him if he was uncomfortable with the speed at which things were progressing.

But Harry didn’t move to stop Draco; he looked down at him reverently and simply watched as Draco unbuttoned his denims and unzipped his flies. Draco’s heart was racing as he pushed Harry’s pants down to his thighs and allowed his hard cock to spring free. Draco grinned; he’d imagined Harry’s dick thousands of times, but his fantasies had nothing on reality: Harry was long and thick, more than a mouthful but not intimidatingly large. Draco leaned in, maintaining eye contact with Harry, and licked a long strip from base to tip before taking the head into his mouth and sucking lightly. Harry bucked forward and swore, clenching his fists at his sides.

Draco pulled off. “Oh no, Harry. None of that.” He took Harry’s hand and placed it on the back of his head. “Fuck my mouth, Potter. I want you to.” Draco licked the slit of Harry’s cock before opening his mouth, waiting.

“F-fuck, Draco,” Harry replied, fisting Draco’s hair and pushing himself into Draco’s mouth. Draco relaxed his throat, taking as much of Harry as he could manage without gagging. It had been a long time since he’d done this, but he was confident of his skills.

As Harry gently fucked in and out of his mouth, Draco reached down and freed his own aching cock from the confines of his pants.

“Yes, oh gods...touch yourself. I want to watch you come.”

Draco groaned around Harry’s dick and stroked himself roughly. Harry increased the speed of his thrusts and for a few minutes the only sounds in the lab were the wet slapping of skin and occasional moans of pleasure.

“I’m, fuck, I’m really close, Draco,” Harry warned, fisting Draco’s hair tighter. He felt Harry grow harder moments before he began to come in warm spurts in Draco’s mouth. “Ah, shit!” Harry yelled. Draco spluttered a bit, causing semen to hit him in the chin and cheek.

“That’s so unbelievably hot,” Harry said, pumping his hips a few more times into Draco’s mouth. “Come for me, Draco,” he said, running a finger through the spunk on Draco’s face. He pushed the finger into Draco’s mouth, and Draco felt his climax rip through him. He moaned loudly and gripped Harry’s hip for balance as he rode out his own orgasm.

“You’re gorgeous,” Harry said, sliding to the floor next to Draco.

“You’re just saying that because I let you fuck my mouth,” Draco said, smiling and looking around for his wand.

Harry beat him to it, casting a gentle cleaning spell over both of them. “No, Draco, I’m not just saying that because you let me fuck your mouth. I mean, that was bloody amazing, but you are. You’re beautiful. And sexy. And so insanely smart. And funny, which is honestly quite the surprise.”

Draco felt himself blush, but he tried to cover his embarrassment with his trademark snark. “Yes? Keep going, by all means. I never tire of others extolling my virtues.”

Harry chuckled and bumped his shoulder against Draco’s. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to be an arse to cover up your discomfort,” Harry said, turning to look Draco fully in his eyes. “I mean all of it. I think you’re completely wonderful, yeah?”

Draco leaned forward and kissed Harry, gently this time. “Thank you, Harry,” he said quietly.

“So, will you go to dinner with me?” Harry asked again, pulling Draco into his lap.

“I suppose,” Draco said, pressing his face into Harry’s neck to hide his beaming smile.

“Good,” Harry said. “Also, will you tell Astoria that I fixed this thing between us? She can be right terrifying.”

Draco laughed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have set her on you this morning. But I couldn’t face you, and it was either her or my mother. I assumed you’d rather have Astoria at your door than Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Depends,” Harry said. “Would your mother have threatened me at wand-point to fix whatever I’d bollocksed up between us?”

“Perhaps,” Draco said, considering. “Although poisoning is more her style.”

 

**EPILOGUE**

**June 2029**

“First, I’d like to thank you all for coming,” Jamie said, holding his flute of champagne delicately. “Teddy and I are so honoured that all of you came to celebrate with us today. We love each and every one of you, and you’ve all been so important in our lives.” Jamie looked over at Teddy and winked. “But I’m going to take a leaf out of my Zayde Saul’s book and take this opportunity to kvell a bit about my parents. All four of them!” Jamie smiled at the table where the most important people in his life - besides his new husband, of course - sat. “When I was six, my mum and dad split up,” he continued, “and honestly, it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Teddy let out a surprised bark of laughter, and there was scattered chuckling from the guests. “Because I gained two more parents. I don’t have many memories of my parents being together, but I have more happy memories than I can count of my childhood. Mum, Nev,” Jamie turned to face his mother and step-father. “You two are the most supportive, hilarious, wonderful parents a kid could ask for. Nev, you taught me how to care for a garden and how to apologise to Teddy when I was being an arse. Mum, you taught me how to ride a broom and how to stand up for what I want and what I need in life. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and I love you both to the moon.” Ginny wiped away a tear and Neville beamed at his eldest step-son. “And Dad,” Jamie turned slightly to look at his father, who was clutching Draco’s hand and weeping. “Oh, Merlin, Dad! Keep it together!” Harry laughed and mopped at his eyes with a kerchief. Lily got up from her seat and stood behind her dad, leaning down to wrap her freckled arms around his shoulders. “Thanks, Lil! Anyway, Dad, you taught me how to be a good partner and a good friend. You showed me what it means to be strong for your family, and how to make the best pancakes in the world. I love you.” Jamie took a deep breath. “And you, DD.” Jamie smiled at his other step-father. “My Draco-Dad. We got off to a rocky start,” Al and Scorpius burst out laughing. “If by ‘rocky’ you mean ‘terrible,’ then spot on, James!” Scorpius shouted.

“Yeah, yeah, can it, kid! This is my day!” Jamie shouted back, laughing. “As I was saying, DD and I didn’t start off the best of friends. But he was always, always there for me when I needed him. I’m going to tell you all a story that I haven’t told anyone, not even Teddy.” Draco raised his eyebrows, looking nervous.

“James, if this is about the time that you walked in on me and your father…” Draco began.

“No!” Jamie yelled, turning almost as red as his hair. “Merlin, DD! I was hoping to go to my grave without ever discussing that!” The guests were all howling with laughter, although Harry looked like he might start to cry again. Jamie gave himself a little shake and continued. “No, this story comes from when I was fourteen and home for the winter hols. Zayde was in hospital, and dad was there almost twenty-four hours a day at that point. I had just gotten what I thought was the worst owl of my young life. Teddy had told me, in no uncertain terms, that not only was I too young for him, but he simply ‘didn’t see me as anything other than a friend’ after I confessed my love for him.”

Teddy grabbed Jamie’s hand and kissed his knuckles, smiling up at him from where he was seated. “I promise that I see you as more than a friend, now!” Teddy exclaimed, laughing.

“Well I’d hope so, Mr. Potter-Lupin, you giant arse,” Jamie rolled his eyes and continued. “Well, DD found me crying in the kitchen. He asked what happened, and I was completely honest with him. He patted my hand, gave me a tissue, and left.”

Harry turned to look at his husband in horror. “Draco!”

“Well I came back, obviously, Harry! Honestly.” Draco waved his hand, gesturing for Jamie to continue.

“Right, he came back! Five minutes later he came into the kitchen and set a big bowl of matzo ball soup in front of me. He told me I was having a ‘matzo ball soup emergency’ and to eat and to listen to him. He told me that he had fallen in love with my Dad when he was fifteen. That he had been completely and totally certain that he was truly, madly in love with Harry Potter. But that he hadn’t dared to say anything to him for another fifteen years, and even then it was only because Dad had made the first move. DD told me in no uncertain terms not to give up hope. He explained that I needed to give Teddy space, to recognise that at the moment the age difference really was a ‘bit inappropriate,’ and to go have my own experiences. To go out and do all the things he hadn’t done as a teenager - go on dates, go to parties, make new friends, figure out what I was passionate about in life. And it’s the best advice that I’ve ever gotten.” Jamie smiled at Draco and felt a tear run down his cheek. “I don’t think that Teddy and I would have ever ended up here without you, DD. You reminded me that I had to actually be me, to figure out who that was, before I could focus on finding someone who would complement that. I remember feeling so incredulous, so skeptical! But then I started to watch you and Dad. You complement each other in a way that I’ve never seen in any other couple, and I realised that I wanted that. I wanted a relationship like yours. To have the person that made me whole. And you, Edward Remus Lupin, you make me whole.” Teddy stood up and put his arm around Jamie’s waist. “So thank you, DD. For showing me what I could aspire to have. And for recognising a matzo ball soup emergency when you saw one. I love you.” Jamie raised his champagne. “To my parents, who show me every day what it means to love and be loved. Cheers!”

**Author's Note:**

> Yiddish:  
> Ton nit shrayen in mir alter kaker: Don't yell at me you old fart!  
> Boychick: term of endearment for a young boy  
> Ess: eat  
> Bubbala: term of endearment, literally "doll"  
> Kemfer: warrior  
> Fershtay: Get it? Do you understand?  
> Kvell: To beam with pride and pleasure, Jewish parents are prone to kvell over their children's achievements.  
> Mazel Tov: Congratulations!  
> Schmuck: A vulgarism for penis, strong putdown for a jerk, a detestable person.  
> Mishpocha: family; family of choice/extended family
> 
> French:  
> J'ai voulu seulement à dire bonjour, papa: I just wanted to say hello, papa  
> Je sais, mon chouchou: I know, my little cabbage (chouchou = term of endearment for a child)  
> Non, papa, elles ne seront pas dérangés: No, papa, they won't care!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/152397.html).


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